


Leading with the Left

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Ahh My Favorite Tag, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Backstory, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Drunk Sex, Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Emotional Slow Burn Anyway, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Grinding, High Sex, How Did it Take Me that Long to Add that Tag, I'm Going to Smack Both These Boys Upside the Head, Idiots in Love, If Emotional Constipation was an Olympic Sport, Lap Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Eddie Diaz, Strangers to Lovers, Submissive Evan "Buck" Buckley, There's a Lot of Sex in Here Considering Nobody is Talking about Feelings, They'd Share the Gold, They're Multitasking, Yes They Are Both, as we go along, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 84,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 2383
Kudos: 2375
Collections: 9-1-1 ▶ Edmundo "Eddie" Diaz / Evan "Buck" Buckley





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In dance, the leading partner starts on their right foot. To lead with the left is to do things backwards.
> 
> This fic was inspired by this post: https://kingbuckley.tumblr.com/post/617692328675672064/stripper-au-for-buddie-if-youre-still-writing
> 
> Also please listen to "Heart of a Hustler" by Josef Salvat, suggested by extasiswings, because that is one thousand percent the theme song for this AU.

Buck’s grinding on a pole when he sees the guy.

He knows the type—they’re the sensible friend that didn’t want to come, the one who would rather be at home right now, the introvert. Usually they’re also married, or at least in a relationship where they actually like their romantic partner. He knows not to waste his time on him.

Even if he is handsome as sin. Soft, dark hair just long enough for Buck to tug on, a firm jaw, stubble, and a broad, firm body shown off by the dark blue Henley he’s sporting. Buck wants to unbutton that shirt with his teeth.

The other guys in the group—ugh. Bachelor party, he’d bet his night’s earnings on it. And they’re already all looking at the girls on the other stage.

Buck hides a wince as one of the guys whistles at Sapphire, who’s in the middle of her own pole routine. It’s a job, and he likes it. He’s a people person, and most people are genuinely here to have a good time, but there are the asshole clients just like in any other customer service joint.

He focuses back in on the music, grinding his hips, winking at one of the women watching him. He’s not here to flirt with cute guys, he’s here to make money, and they don’t call it the daily grind for nothing.

As he dances, though, he can feel the guy watching him. It’s been a long time since he’s felt a draw like this, had that initial _zing_ of connection right away.

He tries not to pay attention, even as he glances the guy’s way occasionally. The guy’s staring at him, every time. The club Buck works for is coed, and sometimes people get a little weirded out by that, but this doesn’t seem to be that. The guy’s looking at Buck like—like Buck’s hit him over the head with a frying pan. Like he can’t quite believe Buck’s real.

Buck can’t help it—once his pants come off, he glances over again.

The guy’s blushing.

Buck bites his lip, waits until he catches the guy’s eye, and winks. The poor guy (Buck has decided to name him Henley Hottie) gets even redder in the face, eyes going a bit wide.

One of the number one rules of stripping is _keep ‘em wanting more,_ so Buck turns away and focuses on some other people for a while. He has to hustle, has to do so many dances a night, to pay his bills and he has to stay focused on that. Besides, the one thing he promised himself when he got this job was that he wouldn’t sleep with customers.

One song later, though, Sapphire’s tapping him on the shoulder. “Buck, you’ve got a request.”

It might not be typical for a stripper name, but he likes it. ‘Buck’ is a young, virile male deer, and it also means a dollar bill, and it’s a shortened version of his last name. In fact he kind of likes it better than Evan at this point.

He follows Sapphire’s pointing finger and sees the group of bachelor party assholes waving him over.

“If this is some no-homo trick I’m not gonna be responsible for my actions,” Buck warns her.

Sapphire laughs. Her real name is Sarah, and she’s studying to be a speech therapist. “Right, because Mr. Blue Shirt over there is just screaming no homo,” she says sarcastically.

Buck glances over again. Sure enough, Henley Hottie is trying to drape his arms over his lap in a way that’ll look nonchalant and casual. And he’s looking at anywhere in the room that’s not Buck.

Ha. Okay. Fine. Buck’ll take the bait. If it gets him in this guy’s lap? It’ll be worth it.

* * *

Eddie does not want to be at a goddamn stripper bar.

He doesn’t even want to be in fucking _Mexico_. He’s supposed to be back home, taking care of Christopher. But Mom and Dad insisted that they were all going to Jon’s wedding, how could you not see your cousins and aunts and uncles and blah blah blah, and _then_ everyone insisted he go to the bachelor party to ‘unwind’ and ‘take your mind off Shannon’ as if they genuinely cared and weren’t all secretly throwing confetti because none of them had ever truly welcomed her—

What? He’s been under a lot of stress lately, okay? Sue him.

But going to a strip club is not the way to get rid of that fucking stress. It’s a way to make him even more stressed, the loud noises, the constant colorful movement all jacking his nerves way up. And he’ll have to be the responsible one who makes sure nobody does anything (or anyone) they shouldn’t. Most of his cousins are decent people but Jon—the one getting married—and Jesus (yes, he sees the irony) are both troublemaking assholes who have, among other things, tried to blow up a toilet in fourth grade and set off illegal fireworks in a barn when they were fifteen.

He doesn’t trust ‘em any farther than he can throw ‘em.

Eddie settles into a chair, orders a beer, and figures, eh, at least the dancers are nice to stare at? The women are gorgeous, of course, and his cousins are all having a grand old time—ordering lap dances and shots, throwing bills like there’s no tomorrow.

If one of them pukes, Eddie is not cleaning it up.

His eyes roam over to the left, where more of the guys are dancing—it’s a coed strip club, not that his cousins care—and promptly chokes on his next sip of beer.

There’s a guy stripping, already shirtless, working the pole like he’s actually having fun with it. He’s got a blinding smile on his face, and the way he’s moving his hips is…

Eddie can feel heat building between his legs and looks away, swallowing. He’s not really into guys, although once or twice he’s felt a little… something. One of those itches between his shoulder blades that might have turned into more if he’d let himself think about it for too long. But he didn’t, and then he was with Shannon, and then he was… alone, and abandoned, and trying (and failing) to raise his son.

So, yeah, guys don’t really… except this guy, he keeps drawing Eddie’s gaze.

He’s big, for one thing. Arms that Eddie could fuckin’ sink his teeth into. He looks like he could get slammed into a wall and fucking take it and the idea of that is… a lot.

Eddie casually, strategically rests his chilled beer bottle between his legs, right up against where his pants are starting to feel tight.

He can’t stop fucking staring. Fuck. It’s been three months since Shannon left and he wasn’t sleeping with her before that, the two of them going to bed angry each night, facing opposite walls, and he sure as fuck never cheated on her while he was on tour, so it’s… he hasn’t really… his hand’s been pretty good company. And now that’s all coming back to bite him in the ass because this guy is just—he _oozes_ sex.

The guy rips his pants off and holy fuck. Eddie’s trying not to squirm in his seat. The guy’s legs are fit and thick and they’d look really good wrapped around Eddie’s—nope, nope, not thinking about that, or about the outline of his cock that Eddie can see through the black underwear so tight it might as well be painted on—Jeeeesus—

And that’s when the guy looks over at him. Like he knew Eddie was watching him.

And he _winks_.

Eddie’s face feels like it’s on fire. Unfortunately, so does his cock. Fuck.

“Made a friend?” Michael asks.

Eddie actually likes Michael, usually, but not right now with that smirk on his face. “Ah, no.”

“Aww, Eddie, c’mon. Live a little.” Michael nudges him. “You need to get laid, man.”

“Who does?” Jon asks, and oh no. “Eddie? Awwww, you see someone you like?”

“No,” Eddie says.

“Yes,” Michael says.

Eddie has changed his mind. He hates Michael.

Jon moves his chair over. “Who you looking at, hmm?”

Eddie glares at him. “Nobody.”

Jon looks over towards the stage where Eddie was staring, and his eyes light up. “The gringo?”

Eddie braces himself, just in case, but Jon doesn’t needle him about it being a guy. He’s so relieved about it that he forgets, for a second, the consequences of shrugging and saying, “He’s easy on the eyes, I guess.”

“Well, well, if any of us here needs a little treat tonight, it’s definitely you,” Jon says, and then he’s getting up and _walking over oh God oh no—_

Jon talks to one of the women that he was whistling at earlier, and she goes over to—ah shit fuck goddammit—the guy, and then the guy actually walks over.

Eddie wants to die. God, strike him with lightning. Please. He hasn’t gone to confession, he’s killed people, he’s been a bad father, he’s in a house of sin being lustful, _surely_ one of those things is enough to get him a goddamn lightning bolt right here right now.

God apparently decides Eddie will be better punished by staying alive, because no lightning bolt comes.

The guy does, though. Over, that is. He doesn’t—not—never mind.

“Heard you wanted a dance?” he asks Jon.

Ah, fuck. His voice is playful, flirty, and Eddie immediately wants to know what it sounds like all rough and fucked out. Up close, he can see that the guy’s about his age, early twenties, with a puppyish kind of handsomeness to him and blue, very blue eyes.

“It’s for my cousin,” Jon says, because Jon’s a _fucking_ asshole. He gestures at Eddie. “He’s here from Texas.”

The guy grins at Eddie, slow and easy and smooth, like melted chocolate. Eddie’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be allowed to be this turned on by a smile. “Well hey there, Texas. I’ll just have to welcome you here properly, won’t I?”

He crosses the space, putting himself right in front of Eddie—and braces his hands on the back of Eddie’s chair. “I’m Buck, by the way. In case you need to know what to moan.”

He’s a cocky little shit, and Eddie kind of wants to grab him, show him who’s boss around here, but he gets it’s all part of the act. This guy—Buck—doesn’t really want Eddie to moan anything, doesn’t really care. He’s not getting anything out of this besides cash.

Buck plucks Eddie’s beer bottle out of his hands and sets it aside, then—oh God—flicks open the top button on Eddie’s shirt.

“Help you breathe a little easier,” he teases, and then he’s sliding into Eddie’s lap like he owns it.

His hand comes up and slides through Eddie’s hair and—Eddie’s not sure if that’s allowed, what Buck can and can’t do, but fuck—he loves those fingers scratching lightly against his scalp for a second before Buck uses the hold to playfully shove Eddie’s head back in time with the music, smirking at him, rotating his hips in a dirty little figure eight movement that has Eddie pitching a goddamn tent. _Fuck._

Buck grins at whatever expression is on Eddie’s face, casually cupping his own cock through his underwear, like he might actually draw it out. “Like what you see?” he asks, his voice just low enough that only Eddie can hear it.

He’s ninety percent sure he can see Jesus recording this out of the corner of his eye, and normally he’d yell something to get him to stop, but he’s a little busy digging his nails into the seat of the chair so he doesn’t grab onto Buck instead.

Buck smiles, slow and confident. “Y’know, generally it’s polite to answer somebody when they ask you a question, Texas.”

“You’re grinding on my lap and you expect me to be able to hold a conversation?” Eddie replies.

Buck throws his head back and laughs, exposing the long, pale column of his throat, and Eddie wants to just lean in and _bite_. Buck’s laugh is loud and clear, and Eddie gets this ridiculous bubble of pleasure in his chest knowing he did that. He’s been nothing but a cranky asshole since Shannon left—that or a failure—and so it’s just… it’s nice, to be able to make someone… have a good time.

“Don’t worry,” Buck assures him, and he rolls his hips in this slow way that ohhhhh holy mother of God— “I know you like it. You don’t have to answer.”

Then he—Jesus Christ he _takes Eddie’s wrist in his hand_ and guides it up. “Lucky you, the feeling’s mutual. So you get to touch.”

Buck guides Eddie’s hand to his stomach, and Eddie honest to God has to hold in a whimper. Fuck, the guy’s all muscle. He wants to just grab him and mark him up, fucking hell.

How the fuck Buck’s moving to the music with this grinding, Eddie doesn’t know, but he’s kind of lost all sense of space or time. It’s just Buck, moving on him, against him, and then his hand on Buck’s stomach.

He trails his fingers upward slowly—or rather Buck does, guiding Eddie, his grip still firm on Eddie’s wrist. All that broad expanse of muscle, fresh under his fingertips, rippling, shifting, and fuck, his mouth would be watering if it wasn’t so fucking dry.

Apparently, he’s a lot more into guys than he thought. Or maybe it’s just Buck.

Buck suddenly drops his hand, which lands with a smack on Buck’s thigh, and Eddie grabs onto it instinctively.

“Go ahead and hold on,” Buck warns him. He taps Eddie’s opposite shoulder. “The other hand, too.” His look is pure wickedness. “You’ll need it.”

Eddie does as he’s told, holding onto Buck’s thighs, and then Buck grabs Eddie’s face in his hands, tipping Eddie and the chair back, and slides all the way down until they’re completely flush with each other, his ass against Eddie’s cock, and holy fucking—Eddie can feel Buck’s hard cock against his stomach.

It’s just biology, it doesn’t mean anything, Buck’s not really turned on by _him,_ but it’s hard to remember that when Buck’s being all—like this.

Buck sets them to rights but keeps his ass in place, and Eddie’s practically vibrating with holding himself back from thrusting up against it like some wild animal.

He’s an adult. He’s twenty-five, he can fucking handle himself. He’s not gonna just… hoooooooo God…

Buck drags himself back down so their cocks are lining up and Eddie sees fucking stars. His hands clench around Buck’s thighs and Buck hisses a little, like he likes it, his entire body rippling like a snake’s as he moves against Eddie—showing himself off. And fuck is it working. Buck should show himself off, his body’s a fucking work of art.

He’s close. He’s really fucking close. The drag of his denim jeans against his cock is torture and he can feel that he’s leaking, making himself sticky. He’s so out of his goddamn mind that if Buck told him he could fuck him, Eddie’s not sure he wouldn’t do it. Whatever his cousins might say later be damned.

Buck bites his bottom lip, sucking on it a little, and Eddie wants to replace Buck’s teeth with his own so badly he can’t fucking breathe. Buck mutters something that sounds like _fuck it_ and his rhythm changes again, this time hard and relentless, and Eddie’s eyes just about roll back into his head. Holy shit.

A hand tugging on his hair jolts his vision back into focus. “Stay with me, handsome,” Buck tells him, and the compliment’s an act, he knows it is, but it makes him flush all the same. It’s been… a long time since anyone flirted with him, or even complimented him. Even if it was only about his appearance.

He nearly chokes on his own spit as Buck pushes his hand up Eddie’s shirt, fingertips stroking Eddie’s stomach almost but not quite how Eddie just did to him—this is more deliberate, less of an exploration and more of a tease.

“Fair’s fair,” Buck says cheekily, scratching his nails in the soft trail of hair that leads right from Eddie’s navel down between his legs.

Eddie would moan, but he can’t seem to get any sound to come out.

Almost reluctantly, Buck pulls his hand back out and moves it up to Eddie’s shoulder, like he’s bracing, and then he does that little figure eight thing again that has Eddie’s feet jerking off the floor because it feels so fucking good.

Buck’s hand trails slowly down Eddie’s chest, even as his pace kicks up a little. Eddie’s pretty sure he’s going cross-eyed watching Buck’s hand move down his body, his chest heaving up into Buck’s touch. Buck’s hand reaches the hem of his jeans, toys with the button like he might actually flick it open, and Eddie’s so hot all over he thinks he might actually catch on fire.

“Ah, ah, stud, eyes up here.” Buck moves his fingers back up to tip Eddie’s chin back, forcing Eddie to look him in the eye.

Eddie’s pretty sure the whole point is you get to look at wherever you want, but he can’t find the words to say that. He can’t find the words to say anything.

Buck’s hand shifts around and up, his thumb brushing against the corner of Eddie’s mouth. He’s staring at Eddie’s lips and even leans in a little, like he’s actually thinking about kissing him, and fuck, for some reason that does it, all of that hot, rhythmic grinding leading to a blinding climax.

Jesus fucking Christ he hasn’t come in his pants since he was a goddamn sixteen-year-old.

He sits there, panting, his pants ruined, sweat staining the back of his shirt and sliding down his neck, as Buck gracefully, ah, dismounts.

“Y’know what they say, Texas,” he tells Eddie cheerfully. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

He winks a final time, his gaze scanning Eddie like he loves seeing Eddie all debauched and post-orgasm messy, and then he’s off to… somewhere.

“Holy shit,” Michael says quietly, like he’s in shock. “Did you just…?”

Eddie glares. “If one word of this gets back to my parents—”

Michael puts his hands up in surrender.

“No worries, man,” Jon says, but he’s grinning like a shark. Behind him, Jesus is tucking his phone away. “We won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

“Great.” Maybe some of his dignity can be salvaged. He just came from a stripper grinding on him. Mom would _kill_ him.

There seems to be a shift change going on, so Eddie quickly makes his escape, sliding into the bathroom to clean himself up and then splash copious amounts of cold water on his face. He literally can’t remember the last time he came that hard. He wants to bend Buck over the nearest flat surface and be the one to take him apart, see how he likes it when the tables are turned. He wants Buck red-faced and desperate and panting.

Looking more presentable (even if he doesn’t feel it), he heads back to his group, who are now happily watching Jon get a lap dance of his own from a curvy brunette.

…and Jesus is filming. Great. Eddie’s going to have to confiscate and delete that video before Jon’s fiancée sees it and this whole thing blows up.

He’s not sober enough for this. Or for Buck. He hits up the bar for a proper shot. The bartender serves him, and hands him a napkin.

The napkin’s not blank.

There, in blue, is a name, a number, and a note:

_Is it true everything’s bigger from Texas?_

Eddie downs the shot and pockets the napkin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With extra deep thanks to extasiswings, who has basically been betaing this entire monster of a fic.

Buck has never, ever given his number out to a customer before.

Then again, he’s never nearly orgasmed from giving a lap dance before.

His shift’s almost over, thank fuck, so he practically runs to the bar, grabs a cup of ice, and presses it to his aching dick. Jesus. That guy was so sexy Buck’d had to hold in his own noises. The way he’d touched Buck almost wonderingly, like he wasn’t sure Buck was real. The look of pure sin on his face as he’d stared at Buck’s cock. His heaving chest—and oh fuck, Buck had felt the muscle on that, motherfuck—his broad, firm thighs, his thick cock—and the look on his face as he’d come.

Buck really doesn’t do the whole… make a customer orgasm thing. Most strippers don’t. First off, ew. Second off, when a customer was post-orgasm, they didn’t need to be around a strip club anymore. What was the point? They’d gotten off, time to go home. And that didn’t make money. Third off, it could give customers the wrong impression.

He really should’ve pulled away, ended it when he’d tipped the chair forward again. Tipping the chair back, that’s usually his big finale. It shows off his strength and control, puts him and the customer at a new angle, people go nuts for it.

But fuck. The guy had just been—he wants, so badly, for that man to fuck him. Why not go all the way? Why not make the guy come? No harm in it. The guy wasn’t spending any money anyway, except on alcohol. His crazy ass friends are the real big spenders tonight. No harm no foul, and Buck had selfishly wanted to see what the guy looked like when he came.

Now he knows. And he wants more. He felt… all over, honestly. The guy’s chest, his arms, his thighs, his hair. His _cock_ , oh God, Buck’s gonna be dreaming about that for weeks.

If he’s any good at reading people—and when it comes to sex, and flirting, he’s very good—the guy’ll want a good stiff drink after that. Buck snatches up a napkin and scrawls his stage name and phone number on it.

…and a little note. Y’know. To be cute.

“Hey, you know that guy I was just serving?” he asks Layla, the bartender.

Layla looks incredibly unimpressed. Then again, she’s gay, so being unimpressed with men is her default. Buck does not blame her in the slightest. “Yeah?”

“When he orders his next drink, give him this.” Buck passes her the napkin.

Layla rolls her eyes but agrees, and Buck blows her kisses dramatically before heading off to the back room to change. He’s about to be off shift, so he figures by the time this bachelor party wraps up and Texas is free to call, Buck will have had time to get home, clean the place up a bit, and shower the makeup off.

(Yeah, he’s gotta wear makeup, lighting in the club is absolute shit.)

‘Course, Texas might not call. Or text. He might think Buck’s the kind of person who does this with every customer. He might have gotten all he needs from Buck.

In the time it takes him to walk home (yes, yes, he’s gotten lectured about that plenty from his coworkers), his confidence leaks out and dribbles away until he’s unlocking his apartment door with the certainty that he’s going to have to content himself with memories and fantasies and his trusty right hand.

Then his phone buzzes.

_It’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it._

Buck grins. _I just showed you how I use mine. Wanna show me how you use yours?_

It’s far from the classiest response but, whatever. He’s already starting to get a little hard again at the prospect of having this man in his bed. Whatever will get him there, Buck’s willing to do it.

His phone buzzes several times in rapid succession.

_I don’t usually do this._

_Casual hookups. Or men._

_I have to get my cousins home safe._

_But_

_Text me your address._

Buck does more than that. He texts him his address and gives directions to it from the strip club, because he is a helpful, considerate individual who is very, very interested in getting laid.

Then he spends the next hour training for the fifty-meter dash in his apartment.

All the to-go containers and half-empty beer bottles and various other… sundry items get thrown into the trash, which gets taken out to the dumpster. He sprays Febreze fuckin’ everywhere. He sweeps, mops, does the dishes, makes the bed, shoves all his clothes into the closet, and showers. This place hasn’t been this clean in months.

…what? The guy said he didn’t usually do this. Buck wants to give the guy a nice time. Make it a little special. At any rate, he doesn’t want his place to look like a frat house.

He’s seriously considering whether or not to style his hair when there’s a knock at the door.

Buck nearly careens into the front door because oops, he forgot he mopped, and he’s wearing socks, and he goes sliding.

Not his most graceful moment.

He opens the front door and oh, wow, Texas looks even better under proper lighting instead of the weird dimmed purple strobe lights in the club. He’s fuckin’ handsome, like a cowboy in a movie, and Buck wants to put his tongue on literally every inch of him.

Especially the six or so inches hanging between his legs.

“Hey.” Texas smiles, and Buck fucking melts. The guy then—holds up a six pack? “Sorry, I just—felt bad not bringing anything.”

Oh, that’s adorable. Buck melts some more. “Thanks.” He steps back to let him in.

“Your cousins get home safe?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

Texas snorts, setting the beer on the table. “Safe enough. They were practically liquid when I poured ‘em into a cab.”

“I take it you’re the tagalong.”

Texas raises his eyebrows.

Buck explains. “The tagalong. The friend who doesn’t really want to go to the club, and nobody really wants to invite them, but they’re invited anyway and they go anyway because everyone knows that the only reason they get home okay is because of them.”

“A dubious honor,” Texas replies. He shrugs. “Guilty as charged.”

“Guilty?” Buck shakes his head. “Oh no, what are we going to do with you?”

Just as he’d hoped, the guy’s eyes go dark and he takes one, two, three steps forward, until Buck’s back hits the wall and Texas is hovering mere inches away from him. “I’m pretty sure it’s my turn to do something to you. What was that you asked? If I could… show you how I use it?”

Buck’s throat goes dry. Okay, this guy might not be used to men but he sure as hell is used to dirty talk. “Whatever you want.”

There’s a flash of nerves in those dark eyes, and Buck blurts out, “No, seriously, I mean—whatever you want. Even if that’s just—y’know.” He makes a crude hand gesture.

Texas bursts out laughing. “How about we just…?”

He reaches out, as if he’s still worried he can’t touch, like the strip club rules might apply even here, and gently fits his hands around Buck’s hips. Then he takes that final step in, pressing the two of them together, and brushes his lips against Buck’s.

Ohhhh yes. Buck slides his hands up Texas’ arms, squeezing his biceps. “See where it goes?” he says, finishing the other man’s sentence.

Texas nods.

Buck can do that. “I would really like you to kiss me, though.” He pouts. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Texas snorts in response, but he does, in fact, kiss Buck—so it’s all right.

Jesus Christ, this man is a good kisser.

He kisses Buck slowly at first, like he’s relearning how, and then with a bit more determined exploration. He’s mapping Buck out, seeing what makes Buck tick, and Buck gives into it eagerly.

The fact of the matter is, he can have just about anyone he wants in his bed. When he’s got to scratch that itch, he hits up a nearby bar and by the end of the night he has quite a few offers. But while it’s fun, it’s always rushed, and he kind of likes this. Likes this slower take on it. Likes being held against the wall, going pliant, likes the other person taking over and setting the pace.

Especially from someone as goddamn good at it as Texas is.

He has no idea how long they kiss for, but it’s long enough that he gets his hands up into the guy’s hair again—he’s a bit of a sucker for it—and when they pull apart, it’s with a slow, wet popping sound.

“You ever done—anything before?” he asks. He can’t help himself.

“With a guy? No.” Texas won’t stop staring at Buck’s mouth. He drags his gaze back up like he’s resisting a magnet. “But you’re just so damn pretty, how could I resist?”

That smooth motherfucker.

Buck’s got no problem being this guy’s little experiment. A way to dip his toe in the water. Others might object but Buck knows how this goes. The guy’s in town for a wedding. Buck’s a stripper. It wouldn’t last anyway. Why not have fun?

Hands slid up under his shirt, thumbs stroking at his hipbones. “Weird to see you with clothes on,” Texas jokes, his voice low and warm.

“Well. Fair’s fair,” Buck replies, grinning.

“Mmm, true.” Texas noses against Buck’s throat, then nips lightly and _oh,_ that makes Buck shiver all the way down his spine. “Speaking of fair…”

His hand moves down between Buck’s legs, cupping his half-hard cock, and Buck inhales sharply, heat pooling low between his legs. Texas massages, almost curiously, like he’s figuring out how it feels from this opposite angle.

“You can touch me,” Buck blurts out. “Whatever you want, really.” He’s got plenty of condoms and lube in his bedside drawer.

“What if I want to make you come just like this?” Texas asks, massaging Buck’s cock through the fabric, and Buck’s entire body tingles as he firms up even more, straining against the confines of his pants. “Fair’s fair.”

“You—you could,” Buck acknowledges. The idea of being pinned and coming just from a teasing over-the-pants handjob shouldn’t be so goddamn hot, but here he is.

He grinds against the heel of Texas’ hand, and Texas watches his face with dark eyes as Buck shamelessly uses him to get himself off. It’s not going to take much. There was an hour in between, yeah, but he still nearly came earlier from that lap dance, and Texas smells and tastes and feels so damn good—

Texas pulls his hand away just as Buck’s starting to teeter on the edge, stepping back to undo his pants and shove them down.

Buck hurries to do the same. “Changed your mind?”

“I want…” Texas swallows, looking nervous again. “I want to feel—your cock against mine.”

Buck gets his cock out so fast it’s embarrassing. “Y-yeah, okay, we can—”

Texas is kissing him again, so he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Not that he needs to—the other guy’s slotted them up together, grinding his hips, and it’s so fucking good and such a relief that Buck nearly sobs with it.

He showed off his considerable skills earlier, but Texas is no slouch, grinding slow and dirty against him, dragging their cocks together every time. The kissing gets deeper, filthier, licking into each other, biting, sucking. _Yes._ Even if this is all they do, even if they don’t go any further than this—Buck’s going to be more than satisfied.

“Nice shiner,” Texas says, and Buck can feel the grin against his cheek.

What? Oh. His birthmark. He covers that up with makeup while he’s working. He gets too many questions otherwise, usually from people wondering if some customer’s boyfriend got mad at him and clocked him.

“It’s a birthmark,” he explains.

“Cute.” Texas sounds genuinely delighted, and then starts kissing down Buck’s neck.

“That’s not the—ah—only cute thing about me,” Buck pants. God, this guy might be new at this but he’s sure not shy.

Texas laughs, low and sinful, and Buck kisses him again. They grind like that for what feels like hours, clothes still mostly on, like drunken teenagers.

“Tell me—tell me if you want—what you want—okay?” Texas manages in between kisses.

“Here.” Buck slides his hand between them and takes both their cocks in hand. They’re both absolutely covered in precome, leaking with it, and so it’s nothing at all to start stroking, to use it as lube to ease the way.

Texas groans and drops his head to Buck’s shoulder, swearing colorfully. Buck winds his free hand through the guy’s hair again, petting it. “Yeah, feels really fucking good.”

He keeps stroking them, testing things out, seeing what makes them both jolt against each other, and Texas starts kissing up his neck, along his jaw, his hands stroking up and down Buck’s sides. “You’re good at this,” he praises, and Buck’s knees nearly give out.

“Yeah?” he encourages. He’s got kind of a thing for compliments in bed.

“So good,” Texas promises, sucking on his neck. “And so fucking pretty…”

Buck squeezes, twists his wrist, and the other guy comes with a low moan. Oh Jesus that’s hot, hotter than watching him the first time, he can feel it properly now. He wants this man inside of him so badly he’s dizzy with it.

Texas bats his hand away and grabs Buck’s cock, a determined look on his face. He strokes him, and it takes the guy a moment to adjust to the different angle, but then holy shit, he is _on_ it. Buck can only grab onto his shoulders and hang on for the ride as Texas imitates Buck’s strokes, finds that rhythm and pressure that Buck adores.

“I know what I want,” the guy adds—as if he expects Buck to actually be able to carry on a conversation right now.

“Y-you do?” Buck manages, breathless.

The look on the guy’s face is positively feral. “I want to fuck you.”

Buck’s legs nearly give out. “Yes, _please_.”

“So good, so pretty, you feel so good,” Texas groans, like he can’t help himself, he just has to say it out loud. He bites down on the bolt of Buck’s jaw and Buck’s entire body feels like a lightning rod. “Bet you’ll feel even better when you’re on my cock.”

That does it. Buck comes hard, knees buckling, whimpering. If this guy keeps praising him like that, he’s never going to last long at all.

Texas keeps kissing along his neck, like Buck’s skin is fascinating, addicting, and Buck wraps an arm around him for balance. He must’ve done something really, really good to be earning this. Is it his birthday? Is Santa making up for all the crappy Christmases after Maddie left?

“Although,” Texas adds, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “you _are_ gonna have to talk me through it. Think you can manage that?”

He bites down hard on Buck’s throat, and Buck’s eyes just about roll back into his head. “Yeah, I think I can do that.” He can definitely, one hundred percent do that.

He has no fucking clue how this present was dropped right into his lap, but fuck if he’s not going to take full advantage of it.

* * *

Eddie is going to fuck this guy senseless.

Buck is so goddamn pretty when he comes, his eyelashes fluttering, his mouth open, the most glazed expression of pleasure on his face that Eddie’s ever seen. His voice is rough and cracking, and his entire body locks up and shakes when he orgasms. And his _whimpers_. Fuck. Eddie wants to hear that sound again and again.

His one fear is that—well. He hasn’t had any kind of sex in ages and he’s never been with a guy. Handjobs are one thing. He’s jacked himself off enough times, figuring out how to do that with someone else wasn’t rocket science (even if it was a bit weird—not in a bad way, just _new_ ).

But the whole… y’know. Home run. Pitching and catching. Thing. That’s not his forte.

Hell he doesn’t even _like_ baseball.

Buck must sense his sudden bout of nerves, because he takes Eddie’s hand, threading their fingers together, and tugs him across the apartment towards the bed.

It really is a nice apartment. Well, not _nice_ , but Buck’s made it that way. It’s clean and neat. It’s a studio, with a kitchen area at the front and then a sort of alcove with the bed, and a doorway to what Eddie assumes is the bathroom on the back right. It’s not really decorated, though. It feels a little… transient. Like it’s not quite Buck’s home.

That makes something in his chest go tight.

Buck hits the bed and strips off his shirt, and Eddie realizes—oh, yeah, he should get naked. That’s usually important with sex. Yup.

Once that’s accomplished, Buck scans him up and down and a look of complete delight spreads over his face. Eddie can’t help but preen just a little. He’s fresh off the Army, and in spite of his injury and PT, he’s still pretty damn fit. He’s got a mountain’s worth of insecurities but his looks are not one of them.

He steps in and lets Buck runs his hands up his chest again, this time without a shirt in the way. The touch is firm, exploring, and Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. He hasn’t been… touched like this by anyone in years. The last time he had sex with Shannon—and he can barely remember when that was—it was rushed and harsh. Neither of them took their time. There was certainly nothing in them that matches the awe in Buck’s face as he touches Eddie all over.

But, well. It’s hardly fair if Buck’s the only one getting to touch now. They aren’t in the club anymore, after all. Eddie fits his hands around Buck’s hips again, and then slides them up, over Buck’s back, down, squeezes his ass. Buck huffs out a laugh and brushes his lips against Eddie’s jaw.

“Like it?”

“It’s acceptable,” Eddie replies.

Buck bites his lip and Eddie laughs, pushing Buck down onto the bed. Parts of this are new but other parts—climbing onto the bed, pinning his partner down, kissing their skin—those are familiar. Those, he’s good at.

“Oh, God,” Buck moans, thrusting up against him as Eddie learns that huh, men like having their nipples played with same as women. “You—you sure this is your first time?”

“I’m flattered,” Eddie replies. He bites on Buck’s nipple, tugs lightly, and Buck claws at his shoulders. Mmm, yes. It helps that Buck is so very open and receptive, that he telegraphs everything he likes and wants so clearly.

“You really… hhhnngghhh…” Buck trails off as he squirms, and Eddie can feel him getting hard again. Hell yes.

Eddie sucks at Buck’s hip, feels the thin skin underneath his tongue, works it until a dark purple spot blooms bright. He’s always been a bit of a biter during sex, and so long as it keeps making Buck moan, Eddie sees no reason to stop.

He moves slowly back up to Buck’s mouth, licking inside as Buck grinds against him. He’s not quite ready to fuck him yet, he still needs a few minutes, but that doesn’t matter. The last few times he’s had sex it’s been a race to the finish line—he likes this, just enjoying each other and the moment, the feel of Buck’s body against his, beneath his, around him.

While he hasn’t been with a guy, though, he isn’t fucking stupid, and he knows Buck’s going to need more prep than Shannon did. “What do I do?” he asks. “How do I get you ready?”

“Ready for you to fuck me?” Buck asks, playful.

“I mean, if you’ve changed your mind…” Eddie pulls away, grinning when Buck whines and follows.

“No, no, I didn’t, get back here—” Buck realizes Eddie was teasing and he glares. “Fuck you, man.”

“Other way around, remember?”

Buck laughs and reaches over to the side, opening the drawer in the nightstand by the bed. He tosses Eddie the lube and a condom, then turns over onto his stomach.

“It’s easier from this angle,” he explains.

Eddie sets the condom to the side, ready for when he needs it, and then slicks up his fingers. “Where do I start?”

“Go slow,” Buck advises. “Circle the rim, don’t dive in right away.”

Eddie kisses the back of Buck’s neck, massaging Buck’s ass with his free hand. “I can do slow.”

He gently pushes Buck’s ass cheeks apart, explores a bit, rubs at the skin, find what makes Buck inhale shakily, what makes him squirm. There’s a lot more that he can do, more ways he can tease, than he realized. He keeps kissing along Buck’s spine as he does, biting down, sucking little marks, trying to make Buck feel as good as possible.

“Okay, when I said—go slow—I didn’t mean like a glacier,” Buck pants.

Eddie chuckles, pouring more lube over his fingers, and massages the rim, like Buck said, pressing down with this thumb and then going feather-light, teasing just a bit more.

“Jesus Christ.” Buck glares at him over his shoulder.

Eddie winks.

“Don’t put the whole finger in, just work it in a bit at a time.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Eddie retorts. But he does work just the tip of his index finger in, stroking in and out carefully.

Buck relaxes quickly, chewing on his bottom lip, drawing Eddie’s finger in like he’s hungry for it. Eddie slowly works more and more of his finger in until he’s thrusting up to the third knuckle, the base of his finger.

And fuck, but Buck’s so into this, he _likes_ it, grinding onto Eddie’s finger. “You can—you can add a second.”

Eddie slides a second one in, and he only means for it to go in just a little, but instead he ends up sliding both in all the way, and Buck’s toes curl, his entire body jerking. He bites at the pillow and his shoulders roll in a long, slow grind away and then back onto Eddie’s fingers.

“Too much?” Eddie asks, starting to pull his fingers out.

“No, no, perfect, yes, stay,” Buck gasps out. “Holy shit, sorry, just—that was a lot.”

He gently strokes Buck’s side and kisses up the knobs of his spine. “You sure?”

“Don’t you worry, Texas, I like it a bit rough.” Buck grins at him. “You’re not gonna break me.”

A wicked idea springs into Eddie’s mind and he draws his fingers out almost completely, then sinks them back in all the way. “So you like this?”

Buck moans. “Ohhhh fuck yes, fuck yes, yeah, that’s—that’s good.”

Eddie does it a few more times and Buck thrusts messily against the sheets. He’s gorgeous like this. Eddie’s entranced by the way Buck’s body moves, rolling and pitching like a ship in a storm, how the muscles tighten and relax in rhythm.

“You can—you can curl your fingers—find—find the prostate…”

“What’s it feel like?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Buck squirms. “You’ll know it when you feel it, it feels like a bump, but not?”

“So I just curl my fingers and hope for the best.”

“Well, how do you find a girl’s g spot?” Buck counters.

Okay, that’s fair.

“Like this?” Eddie asks, curling his fingers. He wants to do this right, he’s _determined_ to do this right. He’s only been with one person his entire goddamn life and he knows how to sound confident but that doesn’t mean he actually knows what the fuck he’s doing and he wants, needs, Buck to tell him.

Buck groans in approval. “Oh _fuck_ yes, yeah, just like that.”

Eddie shifts the angle a bit here and there, searching, looking—and then he feels it. It does feel almost like a bump, like a spot on a page except he can sense it instead of seeing it, and he strokes his fingertips against it.

“Holy mother of—” Buck’s sentence trails off in a whine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re—oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie keeps pressing against it, stroking it, until Buck isn’t even moving properly, just making little _ah ah ah_ noises, and then he pulls back, leaving just the tips of his fingers inside.

“Jesus Christ,” Buck whimpers faintly.

Eddie’s so fucking hard at this point, he could easily move them forward to the next stage of this—but he doesn’t want to stop this just yet. He wants to keep toying with Buck, wants to keep playing with him a little—he wants to see how far he can take this, just with his fingers.

“Can I add a third?” he asks.

“A third?” Buck sounds close to hysterical. “Yeah, yeah you can—if you want—I mean, I know how big your dick is, man, that might be a smart idea, yeah.”

Eddie’s flattered, but that’s not why he wants to add a third finger. He just wants to drive Buck that much more insane.

He adds more lube (he probably doesn’t really need to, but he’s paranoid) and carefully, bit by bit this time, works his ring finger in. He’s got three of them stretching Buck wide, and he’s shocked by how hot he finds it, just watching his fingers slide in and out around that tight, greedy entrance.

He gives it a little bit, waiting until Buck’s used to it—and then he starts hitting Buck’s prostate again.

Buck loses his goddamn mind.

“If you don’t—if you don’t stop I’m gonna—I’m gonna come like this,” he vows, thrusting and shaking.

“Maybe that’s the idea,” Eddie tells him, leaning over to nip at the shell of Buck’s ear.

The helpless cry that Buck gives at that goes straight to his dick. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as hot as this, as Buck out of control and all just from Eddie’s fingers, from Eddie’s touch.

Buck’s fluttering wildly around his fingers, nails tearing into his pillows until Eddie’s worried he actually might rip them, and Eddie’s practically humping the bed himself with how goddamn hot it is to watch Buck fall apart. “You’re—you’re—I’m— _oh_ my God I’m gonna—oh my God _please_ —”

Buck’s pleading is fucking delicious, and Eddie can’t stop, can’t pull away. He wants to drive Buck over the edge, just like this. Buck tries to push himself up, arms shaking, but Eddie puts a hand on the small of his back, keeping Buck pinned to the mattress.

The broken moan that Buck gives at that makes Eddie’s cock jump. Finally, out of the entire mess that is his life, he has some semblance of control, and it’s intoxicating. Buck isn’t so much grinding against the mattress now as writhing, no rhythm or finesse to it, shoving himself both towards and away from Eddie’s fingers.

Eddie’s relentless. He strokes Buck’s sweet spot over and over, doesn’t let up, as Buck devolves into broken gasps, his eyes staring wildly into nothing as his toes curl and his hips shake and he comes, cock still trapped between his body and the bedsheets, his sweat-slick body still pinned by Eddie’s palm.

Eddie feels like he’s been gut-punched by lust. He’s lightheaded with it. That was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his life, and if he was just a few years younger he’d probably have come just from watching it. Buck gives the tiniest little whimper, and Eddie’s smacked in the face with the thought that he wants that louder, wants _more_. He wants to mess Buck up.

He grabs the condom and rolls it over his cock, squeezing the base quickly to try and keep himself from completely losing his mind. “Do you still want me to fuck you?”

Buck rolls over, looking at Eddie like he’s crazy. “Um, fuck yes?”

“You already came.”

“I don’t care about an orgasm.” Buck gets up and guides Eddie so that he’s on his back, swinging a leg over him. “I want your cock inside of me.”

Eddie’s never had that before, so he doesn’t know how it feels, but Buck sounds like it’s the best fucking feeling in the world, like he’s drooling for it.

And, well, he’d be cruel to deny him, wouldn’t he?

He lets Buck take control with this, lets Buck position himself and then Eddie’s cock, and sink slowly down onto it. Mother of Christ, it’s really, really been a long time and it’s a really fucking good thing that he came earlier otherwise he’d be losing it right here and now.

Buck’s mouth falls open, his throat working but no sound coming out, a flush spreading down his chest. It’s… he’s… gorgeous, honestly. In that moment—maybe it’s just the dopamine talking—he looks like the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen.

Then Buck starts to move, and _holy fuck._

Eddie might be able to fake it ‘til he makes it with the gay sex thing, but Buck clearly knows what he’s doing. It’s almost like a version of the lap dance he gave Eddie earlier, moving rhythmically, as if to music only he can hear—only now he’s clenching around Eddie’s cock, shoving himself up and down, rolling his hips and twisting them every so often in a way that has Eddie digging his nails into Buck’s thighs.

A low groan escapes him, and that seems to spur Buck on. He likes it when Eddie compliments him…

“You should see yourself,” he blurts out. “You’re so fucking hot like this, Jesus Christ…”

Buck ducks his head down a little, trying to hide a smile, but he moves faster, encouraging Eddie.

“Fuck.” Eddie starts thrusting up into him and Buck seems to lose his mind. He lets out a noise that’s close to a sob and claws a little at Eddie’s chest. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Jesus fuck how are you—you’re so fucking hot, riding me like you’re gagging for it—you’re fucking gorgeous, _Christ_ —”

He can’t stop the litany of words pouring out of his mouth, the filthy things he’s saying, but Buck just seems to love it.

And fuck, he’s so close. Buck is tight and hot, the perfect fit, and he wants to bury himself in to the fucking hilt and never come out again.

“C’mon, work yourself on me, that’s it,” he encourages. “So loud, so pretty, so fucking perfect, showing yourself off for me, show me how much you want it, make those pretty noises for me—”

And Buck does, he _does,_ he grunts and groans, _uh_ noises shoved out from the back of his throat, he sobs and _wails_ and it’s exactly as good as Eddie’d thought it would be.

Buck does that little figure eight thing from the lap dance, shoving himself down all the way onto Eddie’s cock until he’s completely buried in him, and it’s absolutely perfect—and Eddie comes before he’s aware of it, the realization, the sensation, almost an afterthought.

It’s like a fucking out of body experience.

Buck helpfully (if a bit gingerly) gets off and gets the condom off of Eddie, throwing it in the trash, before collapsing beside him with a grin. “So.”

“So.”

Buck waggles his eyebrows.

“Do you want a five star review?”

Buck laughs at that. “Nah, just waiting to see if you’re going to split or stay.”

He says it nonchalantly—or more like he’s trying to sound nonchalant to cover up something else. And Eddie’s not really well versed in the whole one night stand thing, but he’s got single friends, and he’s pretty sure that someone leaving right after the orgasms are finished is a little… hurtful.

And Buck sounds like he’s used to it.

“You’re a lot more fun than my motel room,” he replies.

Buck grins. “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

“Oh?”

“Gotta give you the full male experience,” Buck explains, stretching. “And I’m told my blowjob skills are spectacular.”

Eddie would like to thank God and also Jesus that he met this man when he’s still got a relatively fast recovery period instead of when he’s forty and needs two hours and a pill to get it up again. “I’m starting to think you only want me for my dick.”

“Awww, I’m sorry baby,” Buck coos, flopping on top of him. “Of course we can just cuddle.”

Eddie laughs. This guy’s such a jackass but in the cutest way possible. “Okay, seriously though, I just came. I’m gonna need a beer first.”

“Well, this very handsome guy was kind enough to bring me some beer, so…”

“Handsome, huh?” He watches as Buck stands up and, without shame, walks naked over to the kitchen to grab beers.

There are some very nice hickeys marring up all that pale skin around his spine. That thrills Eddie for reasons he can’t quite articulate.

“Oh, yeah, super sexy. Great hair, great smile, hung like a horse.” Buck opens two beers and saunters back over. There are hickeys all over his chest, too. Excellent.

“You should’ve fucked him,” Eddie points out, accepting the beer and resting back against the pillows.

“Oh,” Buck promises, settling down next to him. “I plan to.”

They clink their beers together, and Eddie rather likes the promise in Buck’s gaze. It’s been… years since he’s been this reckless. This indulgent. But hey, his family wanted him to unwind and relax, live a little.

That’s exactly what he’s doing.

* * *

Buck is having the time of his life.

He hasn’t laughed this hard in ages, hasn’t been fucked this well, this thoroughly, in possibly ever, and he sure hasn’t ever had his hookup stick around afterwards like they’re friends.

He feels like they could be friends, in another life.

They finish their beers, shooting the breeze—Buck explains that his family thinks he’s bartending, Texas regales him with the colorful dynamics of his relatives—until the looks Texas is giving him start to feel heavier. Steamier. They hold promise.

And, well. Buck did promise the man a spectacular blowjob.

They don’t exactly talk about it. He just slides down between the lazy sprawl of Texas’ legs and starts nosing at his cock. He hears the movement of the bedside drawer again, and then a condom is dropped next to him.

Buck winks up at him and rolls the condom on, sucking at the dick through the latex. He gets checked regularly, and he’s been clean so far, but he does sleep with a lot of people and it never hurts to be careful—and he doesn’t know where Texas has been, and Texas has no guarantee that Buck’s telling the truth.

Luckily, a condom doesn’t get in the way of giving his partner a good time.

Buck starts slow and teasing, licking all over, having some fun with the balls, sucking at the underside all the way up until he gets to the very tip.

A hand slides into his hair, gently playing with the strands, and Buck hums happily. He likes it when he’s being touched, he’s a huge sucker for it—even when there’s no real purpose behind it, just that soft, appreciative touch.

Not that the grip in his hair stays soft for long. As Buck takes more of that cock into his mouth, Texas tightens his grip, until he’s tugging on the strands in time with the shallow thrusts of his hips into Buck’s mouth.

Fuck, yes. Buck loves this, loves feeling like he’s pleasing someone, that he’s being good. It gives him a thrill up his spine like nothing else.

He makes his mouth go slack, tucks Texas’ cock into his cheek, runs his tongue over the slit again and again, as Texas starts to fuck his mouth properly.

And then the man starts _talking_ again.

“Your _mouth_ , Jesus fuck…” There’s a drawl that slips into his voice when he’s all turned on, and it drives Buck insane. “It’s so good, how are you—oh my God how are you doing that, how are you taking—holy fucking Christ—”

Yeah, Buck’s real good at deep throating. It takes practice, actually, otherwise his gag reflex comes back with a vengeance and he has to work it with a damn toothbrush for a few days. But he is _real_ grateful for it right now because Texas is making these choked moans and his legs are shaking as he fucks Buck’s mouth, completely out of control. He’s lost, overwhelmed, and it’s all because of Buck.

His one disappointment is that when Texas comes, it’s into the condom. But it’s still so good, feeling that orgasm against his lips, his tongue, under his hands.

He’s yanked up almost at once and kissed thoroughly, and oh. Oh. Nobody’s ever done that. Who wants to kiss someone after they’ve just had their mouth on your genitals? Nobody, that’s who—except apparently Texas does. He kisses Buck hungrily, delightedly, like there’s nothing he wants more than to suck Buck’s tongue into his mouth.

They tangle, limbs overlapping, until at last Texas pulls away and trashes the condom, gets some tissues. He glances down at Buck’s own erection and raises an eyebrow.

“You want to teach me one more thing?” he asks.

Ohhhhh fuck yes. Buck spreads his legs immediately and Texas sucks softly at Buck’s shoulder, at his collarbone, his pecks, his stomach. Buck tosses down a condom and Texas rolls it on, a question in his eyes.

“Same as, y’know, the fingers,” Buck explains. “Just, start slow. Think about what you like. Don’t try to take too much in your mouth, the head’s the most sensitive, and uh, don’t be afraid to play with the balls, either.”

His face feels like it’s on fire. He’s never said all this out loud before, he’s just kind of… blurted things out in the heat of the moment or fumbled his way through with his partner. To announce it so… baldly.

But Texas doesn’t seem embarrassed. He just listens intently, and then nods—and gets to work.

Buck can’t help the little noise that escapes him as Texas licks all over, like he’s trying to get Buck’s cock wet even though that’s useless with the condom on. Or maybe more like he’s just exploring. The guy’s a biter, he’s clearly got a bit of an oral fixation—not that Buck’s complaining. And it’s a good tease, a sweet tease, as Texas uses his tongue until Buck’s starting to get desperate and pant, fire building in his chest.

Finally, Texas fits his lips around the head, sucking, and he rubs his tongue against the underside—something he clearly likes, because he jumped in Buck’s mouth whenever Buck did it.

It’s clearly not something he’s done before—not like the fingering which had Buck seriously seeing stars and also possibly God—but he’s a determined, thorough person and he’s slowly, carefully working more of Buck’s cock into his mouth until he’s bobbing up and down and Buck is about to fucking combust.

He runs his fingers through that soft hair—how the fuck could he not—and tries to thrust up, but Texas puts his hands on Buck’s hips, stopping him, holding him in place, and _oh_ fuck that’s hot, that’s really—he’s being slowly taken apart, pinned down and slowly, like there’s a rope tugging him off a cliff, he’s dragged over the edge.

Fuuuuuck.

Texas looks far too pleased with himself as he pulls off and cleans up. “Good?” he asks.

“Dude, did you blink and miss the orgasm?”

“Hey, there are orgasms and there are orgasms,” Texas points out, and huh. That’s… true.

“It was good,” Buck promises, grinning. “You’re a natural.”

Texas rolls his eyes, but he’s blushing as he lies down next to Buck, staring at him. Buck blinks, nice and slow, the whole evening finally starting to catch up with him. It’s four in the morning, according to the digital clock on the nightstand. Jesus.

“We should shower,” he murmurs, but his limbs feel too heavy.

“Mm.” Texas’ eyes are closed. “Later.”

Later. That sounds like a great idea.

* * *

Eddie wakes up at six in the morning like he always does.

No matter what else is going on in his life, oh six hundred hours, his eyes fly open.

Lately, he’s been trying to train himself to go back to sleep. Sometimes he can’t, so he’ll just get up and clean the house, do some laundry.

Right now, though…

He opens his eyes and sees Buck lying there, drooling a little into the pillow. It’s fucking adorable.

He reaches over and brushes some of Buck’s hair out of his face, and Buck stirs. “Mmm?”

“Sorry.”

“No, ‘s ‘kay.” Buck slowly blinks his eyes open. His voice is soft and slurred. “Usually people sneak out y’know?”

Eddie’s heart breaks just a little. Yeah, Buck’s a stripper, but he’s a person. He has feelings too. People want to feel needed, they want to feel valued, even if it’s just valued enough to stick around until the morning for a proper _thanks for the fun time, have a great life_ talk.

Eddie’s aware that people in Buck’s line of work often feel used. He can’t help but wonder how much it sucks to feel that way outside of work, too. Buck’s body is beautiful but he’s more than that.

“Nah. When I’m going, I’ll tell you.”

Buck’s eyes slide closed again and he nods, his smile small and pleased.

“…we do need a shower though,” Eddie adds.

Buck opens his eyes and looks down at himself, then at Eddie. He grins. “Yeah, maybe just a little.”

The shower is just barely big enough for the two of them, and Eddie lets Buck stand behind him and wash his hair. He turns Buck around to wash his back, and he can’t help but kiss down the slope of his shoulder, slot himself up against Buck a bit.

“Oh yeah.” Buck’s head falls back onto his shoulder. “This isn’t what I was expecting but hell yeah.”

He reaches around and grabs the back of Eddie’s head, holding him in place to kiss him. Yes, hell yes. Eddie slides his hand down, wrapping it around Buck’s cock. This is so much easier than before—this is the angle he’s familiar with from touching himself—and he strokes him slow and easy, grinding up against him.

“Wait, here, here,” Buck gasps out, reaching down and behind, and he fucking _spreads his cheeks_ for Eddie, Jesus Christ, this man is fucking filthy and if Eddie’s not careful he’s going to get addicted.

Eddie slides his cock right in between, wraps an arm around Buck’s waist and goes back to stroking him. Buck groans.

“You like being held in place, don’t you?” Eddie muses. “You really fucking do.”

“Well,” Buck gasps out, “you like doing the holding.”

Eddie chuckles because yeah, yeah it’s true, and he keeps holding him in place, trapped between Eddie’s hand and his cock, until they’re both spilling over.

Buck gives him the sleepiest, most sated, spoiled grin ever. “I still say you’re lying about being a first-timer.”

Eddie swats him on the ass and gets out of the shower. He might actually be able to get back to sleep after this, especially when Buck follows him right back into the bed and curls up on him like a huge dog, snoring in minutes.

Eddie wakes up to the smell of bacon.

For a second, he’s completely disoriented. He’s not at home—this bed isn’t his—is he at his parents’ place? Is Mom making breakfast? Why would he be there?

Opening his eyes and sitting up a little, he realizes he’s nowhere he recognizes. But fuck, does he ache, in a good way—

It all rushes back to him. The strip club. The lap dance that had him literally coming in his pants. Getting the guy’s number, downing just enough liquid courage to call it—and then having the best goddamn sex of his life.

Several times.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Buck’s over by the little kitchenette, putting bacon and scrambled eggs onto a plate. Eddie would make a quip that it’s the morning after, Buck doesn’t have to do the whole flattering the customer thing anymore—except Buck’s voice is just soft and fond enough that Eddie feels… like it’s genuine.

Besides, after last night, he’s pretty damn sure Buck can’t be anything but genuine.

Eddie watches, feeling oddly loose-limbed and relaxed, as Buck walks over, grinning. He’s just wearing boxers, and Jesus, he’s just as handsome in the morning light—broad shoulders, miles of pale skin, tattoos that Eddie remembers sucking on last night as if he could taste the ink.

Buck gives him a smile that’s almost shy, swinging a leg over and straddling Eddie’s lap. “You sleep okay? I know the mattress is shit.”

He hands Eddie the food as he does so, and a fork, and fuck, he made Eddie breakfast. Eddie wishes he could keep him. “I slept fine.”

Better than fine, actually. He was out like a light. He hasn’t slept that well in… ages. Since he got home. Maybe even before that.

Buck swipes a piece of bacon from the plate and eats it, winking. “So. Anywhere you gotta be today?”

Ugh. “I’ve got shit to do to help set up the wedding.”

“Mmm.” Buck steals a bite of eggs with his fingers. That should not be adorable.

Also fuck this food is good. Eddie can’t cook for shit, he always ends up making a mess of things. He once burned water.

“Pity.” Buck sucks his fingers clean, and heat starts to build low in Eddie’s stomach. “Would’ve loved to teach you a few more things.”

He really should be responsible and leave, head back to get a change of clothes and take a shower before Jon and the others can start figuring out he spent the night somewhere other than his motel room (he insisted on it—he wasn’t staying in the house with everyone else and stuff it beyond its limits even if his aunt is now going to make passive aggressive remarks about it). He should be mature. He’s not an eighteen-year-old anymore, making poor choices, knocking up his girlfriend.

…Buck’s also squirming on his lap and giving him a smile that just _screams_ “tell me I’m cute.”

Eddie finishes eating and sets his plate on the bedside table. “I mean. You did make some jokes last night about saving a horse and riding a cowboy.”

Buck’s grin turns wicked. “I did say that.”

He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of Eddie’s head. “You want me to ride you, Texas?”

In the daylight, where he can see every clench of muscle, every inch of skin, every expression on Buck’s face? Fuck yes.

He lightly smacks Buck’s ass, and Buck jolts. “Saddle up.”

Buck laughs, bright and clear, and kisses him.

Not much riding is actually done. They end up rolling over a few times, wrestling without much intention, and Buck’s just as tight and sweet as the night before. He keeps laughing into Eddie’s mouth like he knows some joke that Eddie doesn’t, and when Eddie finally loses patience and pins him down, interlocking their fingers and pinning Buck’s hands above his head, Buck looks like Christmas came early.

It says something about how sad his life is that this is the happiest he’s felt in years. His times with Christopher aside—but even though he loves his son, loves him more than anything in this entire world, that doesn’t mean his life is happy. It doesn’t mean there isn’t that ache in his chest saying _you’re fucking it up_.

He’s not fucking this up. He’s doing it right, making Buck laugh and gasp and come. This, he’s not failing at.

“Sure you can’t stay?” Buck asks afterwards as Eddie (who finally noticed what fucking time it is) rushes around getting his clothes.

“Hey, if it were up to me, sure, but my mom and aunts will gang up and kill me if I’m not there to help out.” After all, why hire staff when you can just guilt-trip your kids into doing the work?

“Well, you’ve got my number,” Buck says, and he sounds confident, but there’s a little wobble around the edges of his mouth.

“Sure do,” Eddie agrees.

He doesn’t realize he hasn’t kissed Buck goodbye until he’s out on the street—and then it would just be stupid to go back and ask for one, right? He’s not—that was just one night (a fantastic night). It’s fine.

He doesn’t delete Buck’s number though.


	3. Chapter 3

Buck always gets a little turned on during shift.

It’s inevitable. He’s literally grinding his dick on people, of course he’s going to react. But it’s just a job, he’s performing, and he can ignore it. He’s never really thought about it before.

Tonight, though.

All he can think about is Texas. The guy’s hands on him, his mouth, his cock. The way he laughed, the way he smiled. And he keeps looking towards the door, as if by some miracle the guy’s gonna walk back in.

By the time he gets off shift it’s three in the morning and his cock is aching. If someone doesn’t touch him he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He does have the guy’s number.

He really shouldn’t. Texas is here for a wedding, with his family, that’s more important than coming over to fuck the stripper he met last night.

But…

When they were having their break, chatting over beers, Texas talked a bit about his family and while he was hilarious he also didn’t seem… happy. Buck doesn’t think Texas’ parents are the same flavor of awful that his own parents are, but he still gets the impression that they aren’t… great. That Texas doesn’t feel supported. And weddings—family reunions of any kind—are always tough. They bring up shit that nobody talks about or resolves, the old wounds reopened.

Maybe the guy would like a break from it all.

He gets home, jumps in the shower, then grabs the phone before he can second guess himself.

_Hey, handsome, you awake?_

He tosses the phone onto the counter and twists around to make sure he got all the makeup off his back. And hadn’t _that_ been fun, his coworkers grabbing him while shrieking with laughter, telling him he had hickeys all over his back.

Buck’s pretty sure he hasn’t blushed so hard in years.

He’s just finished in the bathroom when his phone buzzes.

_Can’t really sleep._

Buck replies immediately. _I just got off shift. Kind of… pent up. Want to help with that?_

To his delight, his phone rings.

“This must be a regular problem for you,” Texas teases, his voice low and rich.

“Not as much as you’d think,” Buck admits. He falls backwards onto his bed, his towel still wrapped around his hips. Part of him wants to ask why Texas is still awake, what’s keeping him from sleep, but he doesn’t want to pry.

He goes the sexy route instead. What? He’s still hard, after all. “But I kept thinking about this guy from last night… and how good he felt…”

“Yeah?” Buck can hear fabric rustling. “You sure you didn’t meet anyone else?”

“Fuck no,” Buck blurts out. “You’re the hottest thing that club’s ever seen.”

“Flatterer.”

“Besides me, I mean.”

Texas bursts out laughing, forcing Buck to yank the phone away from his ear with a wince—but he’s smiling.

“Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.” Texas sounds fond. “So, what do you need, huh? You spent all night giving people lap dances, poor thing, that’s got to be… hard.”

“Did you just make a fucking pun!?” Oh this guy’s cute.

“Maybe. It made you laugh, didn’t it?”

“Mmm it did. Out of pity.” He’s grinning so hard his face hurts. “What about you, huh? Anything I can help you with? Or did you find another stripper?”

Texas huffs. “Yeah, right. I’m not really good at the—um. I don’t. Pick people up. Or get picked up.”

“Well that’s just a damn shame. I’m doing the world a public service, truly.”

Texas laughs. “You’re doing something, all right.”

“I want to be doing you.”

It slips out of him, and there it is, they’ve officially crossed the line into phone sex.

He can hear Texas inhale sharply. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Buck exhales shakily, sliding his hand down his chest, his stomach. “I want… I was hoping you’d walk in all night. I want you to touch me. I’d come so fast, I’ve been so turned on all night, thinking about you.”

“Jeeeeesus,” Texas breathes. “If you think I’m gonna just give you what you want right away, you’ve got another think coming. I’m gonna make you _beg_.”

Buck bites his lip, slides the tips of his fingers under his towel. “Yeah? I’d let you.”

“Oh you’d _let_ me?”

“I’d let you do whatever, seriously. Whatever you wanted.”

“Yeah? What if I had you on my fingers again? Writhing like that?” There’s more fabric rustling. “You looked so fucking good, you have no idea. You were so desperate.”

“Please,” Buck gasps out. “That, yeah, I’d let you do that, I want you to do that to me again.”

“God if I could fuck you…” And then Texas pauses.

Buck swallows. Did—is something wrong?

“Can I?” Texas asks. “Fuck you?”

“I mean—” Buck realizes what he’s insinuating. “Oh. _Oh._ You—want to come over?”

“I’m just lying here wondering why I’m fucking my hand and talking to you in a motel room when I could just take a taxi to you.”

“It’s nearly four in the morning.”

“Do I sound like I care?” There’s a pause. “If—if you want. That is. I don’t want to—”

“No, please.” He wants it more than—anything, in this moment, he’s on fire with it. “I want you to come over.” He takes a deep breath. “Come over and fuck me.”

Texas gives a groan like he’s been gut punched. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I’m—I’ll—I’ll be there.”

Buck lies there, hardly daring to breathe. He has no idea how far away the motel is, it could be ten minutes, could be an hour, could be—fuck.

The temptation to touch himself is awful. He wants so badly, and he’s so keyed up, he could just—take the edge off, stroke himself real quick—but he doesn’t want to… that feels like robbing Texas. He wants to be fucked properly, he wants to give Texas… everything.

There’s a knock at the door and Buck’s up like a shot, completely forgetting he’s still just in his towel, opening the door—

He’s grabbed and kissed, the door slamming behind them, shoved against the wall as he scrambles for purchase.

“The way you _sounded_ ,” Texas moans, before diving in to slide his tongue back into Buck’s mouth.

“Look who’s talking,” Buck moans right back. He wraps his arms around Texas’ neck and kisses him ferociously.

“You fucking tease.” Texas yanks at the towel around Buck’s waist and it falls right to the floor. “Answering the door like that, God, I wanna fucking wreck you.”

“Do it,” Buck challenges. “Fucking do it, I want you to.” He’s got the next couple of days off, he wants to have trouble walking tomorrow.

Texas growls like a goddamn wolf and grabs Buck by the waist, hauling him over to the bed and oh _Jesus,_ the guy’s strong. Buck’s practically ripping at Texas’ clothes, trying to get him naked. They end up in a tangle on the bed, hands sliding everywhere, and God, all that firm muscle, _yes._ Is this guy a fucking personal trainer? He’s the definition of ripped and Buck wants to put his tongue everywhere.

He does just that, moving down, licking at those abs, sucking at those meaty thighs. Texas barely gets a condom on in time before Buck gets his mouth on his cock.

“Somebody’s impatient,” he teases.

“I just spent hours grinding on people and wishing they were you,” Buck retorts, pulling off Texas’ cock with a filthy wet sound. “Gimme a break.”

“Oh, did you now?” Texas sounds beyond pleased, but also a little surprised, which—come on. Surely the guy knows how sexy he is.

He crooks his finger at Buck. “C’mere, pretty boy.”

Ohhhhh that goes right through Buck’s entire body. He crawls right up and finds himself flipped onto his side, arms around him, a hand sliding down to draw teasingly up and down Buck’s stomach. Texas kisses his neck, puts his lips right by Buck’s ear. “You think you can hold on long enough for me to fuck you? I want to feel you coming around my cock.”

Jesus fucking Christ, as if he wouldn’t do anything Texas asked of him when he said it like that, when that was his goal. Yeah, he’d hang on as long as he needed to.

He nods. “I can hold on.” _Fuck_ yes.

Texas hums. “Pass me the lube.”

Buck does as he’s told, shivering when he hears the _snick_ of the tube being opened. The fact that he can’t see what’s happening makes it a little sexier—jacks up the sense of anticipation.

A slicked-up hand slides down between his legs, searching, probing, firm fingers taking their time. He can remember that from yesterday, Texas touching him not so much like a man who was fumbling but a man who knew he was trying out new territory and so was trying to explore every damn inch of it. Memorizing the landscape he was allowed to play in.

Buck presses back, slots them up together more. There’s something oddly intimate about this position, lying sideways, almost like they’re spooning. Like they’re lovers. He’s _held_ like this, literally in the arms of another person, and the intimacy of it has him feeling like his skin’s crackling.

Texas really does take his time sliding a finger in, like he’s still unsure, still a little worried he’ll do it wrong and hurt Buck. As if he didn’t finger-fuck Buck to the best damn orgasm of his life last night.

“You can go a little faster.” Buck reaches around and gets a handful of that fuckin’ perfect ass, uses it as leverage to grind back into the erection he can feel poking at his lower back.

God, having that against him last night in the shower—there had been something so filthy about it, about not even being penetrated properly, just halfway there as they’d rutted together without finesse, just sloppy and loose and easy. Not that he’s a stranger to pretty filthy and, okay, kinky sex, but for the first time he didn’t feel used about it. Or at least, he got the impression that if he was being used, Texas was aware it was with Buck’s permission. Like Texas actually cared what Buck felt like, all last night.

Most people are a little too focused on what Buck can give them.

He gets a nip to his shoulder for his troubles, and a low, warm laugh that washes over him. “You sure? Wouldn’t want to ride you too rough, wear you out.”

“Don’t worry, cowboy, I’m already broken in.”

Texas laughs, and _oh, yes,_ finally adds a second finger. “You know I’m not actually a cowboy, right?”

“You sure? You fuck like one.”

“Ah, because you’re an expert on the subject of how cowboys fuck.”

“Oh totally, one hundred percent.”

For that he gets a nice, delicious bite on his neck, and fuck, he’s going to have to cover this up with more makeup if the marks haven’t faded in a few days but he does not care in the fucking slightest.

If he twists his head just a little, he can look down and actually see the hand between his legs, moving in and out in a steady, practiced rhythm, and he has to take a moment to fucking breathe properly because that is—extremely hot. Beyond hot. He’s out of words.

He hitches his leg up, spreads himself a bit wider, and Texas groans. “So. Goddamn. Perfect. How the fuck…”

Buck would purr, if he was a cat. He arches his back and preens instead, reaches up to stroke through all that soft, gorgeous dark hair. Texas kisses his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and then—just early enough to give it that burning edge—adds a third finger.

“Yes,” he hisses, tugging at Texas’ hair a little. “ _More_.”

“Yeah, you’re a greedy thing,” Texas murmurs.

He scissors his fingers, curls them, shifts the angle as he works Buck open until the filthiest, sloppiest noises are filling the space and Buck’s squirming, moans caught in his throat every time his prostate is hit.

They’re pressed back to chest, and he can feel every time Texas’ chest expands harshly against his back, knows the other man’s starting to unravel. “Don’t let me come,” Buck begs. He grabs onto Texas’ wrist. “Don’t, I want to come with you inside me this time.”

Not that last night hadn’t been fantastic, and he does love getting fucked after he’s already come and deliciously oversensitive, bombarded by the feeling of too much—but he wants a cock shoving him into orgasm tonight.

“Whatever you want,” Texas replies, and fuck, he sounds like he means it. Like whatever Buck wants, Texas will do his damn best to give it to him. And what the fuck is Buck supposed to do with that?

Bask in it, he supposes.

Texas draws his fingers out, and there’s a bit of shifting, and then he’s nudging at Buck’s entrance. Buck has to reach down, their fingers slipping over each other, and help guide him—the angle still just different enough from with a woman that it’s probably tripping the poor guy up. But they work it out, and then that thick cock is inside him, fuckin’ rearranging his insides and hell, yes. Bow-legged city, here he comes.

Pun not intended.

Texas doesn’t thrust at first—he just kisses up and down Buck’s neck, like he’s praising him without words, his hand rubbing up and down Buck’s chest, and Buck—well he’s a little impatient but he basks in it all the same. He never gets attention like this. Only with Texas is he now realizing the _wham bam thank you ma’am_ he’s been settling for and he’s got to be careful or he’ll never be satisfied with anyone else ever again.

“You ready?” Texas asks, like even after all this he’s got to make sure.

“Ride ‘em cowboy,” Buck replies. “Yeehaw.”

He gets a light smack on his thigh for his troubles, but he can feel Texas shaking with laughter. “You are so fucking dorky.”

“Ahh, but it’s part of my charm.” He twists his neck and looks up, just manages to catch those big soft brown eyes, and gives his most adorable smile.

…he probably should’ve seen that thrust coming.

Buck groans, and he can feel his eyes going wide. Texas laughs, the evil bastard, and then doesn’t fucking stop, thrusting into Buck like they’re on a timer. Buck’s held completely, pinned against that broad chest, held own by those hands on his stomach, his hips, and soon it’s harder to tell what’s louder—the filthy, slick smack of skin against skin, or Buck’s own gasps and cries.

“Jesus,” Texas chokes out. He sounds like a man possessed. “You’re so fucking loud.”

“You can—gag me,” Buck says, entirely serious. A few previous hookups have wanted to do that.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Texas buries his face against Buck’s throat, like he wants to literally taste the noises Buck is making. “Why the fuck would I want to _muffle_ that?”

Oh. He—he likes Buck’s noises. He likes how shameless Buck is.

That’s—nice.

Texas changes angles, and all thoughts, all words, fly out of Buck’s head. _That’s_ the angle, right there, oh holy fuck yes, _fuck_ yes, that, that, that, don’t stop, don’t stop, oh God he’s not stopping he’s just—faster—so good so hard so—a hand wraps around his cock and starts stroking him, even faster than the cock thrusting into him, he’s flying—oh shit fuck— _yes_ —

He comes and Texas swears violently, apparently unprepared for the fact that when Buck orgasms, he gets _tighter_ , clenches down, and there’s only a few more violent thrusts before Texas is coming too, clawing at Buck’s chest.

Buck can’t even fucking move. He feels stunned, like he’s been hit with a taser, only this is a much more pleasurable experience.

“I think I blacked out,” Texas croaks from behind him.

Buck laughs, a breathless, wheezing kind of laugh, and then Texas is joining in and they’re shaking and laughing together, still stuck together with sweat and semen cooling between them.

“Shower?” he asks once he gets his breath back. He rolls over to look up, and the blinding, dazed smile that greets him makes his heart do a weird flip.

“Shower,” Texas confirms.

* * *

_We’re going down!_

_He had three kids—_

_You saved everyone—not everyone—_

_I’m going to die out here, we’re all going to die out here._

Someone grabs him and Eddie grabs back, about to throw them, he’s not fucking dying without a fight—and then the hands grab his face, framing it, and it catches up with him that no enemy touches your face. They don’t stroke your cheeks with their thumbs.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry, then snaps into focus. His chest is heaving like he’s back in bootcamp and just finished a set, and he doesn’t need a mirror to know that his eyes are almost all pupil, wild, some strange mix of predator and prey.

For a second he thinks it’s Shannon touching him, except that Shannon never touched him. Usually she didn’t wake up for these, and he’d quietly slip out onto the porch and grip the railing until he got splinters under his nails, or—on the rare occasions where she did wake up—she’d back away, say his name without touching him.

He scared her, and he can just add that as one more thing to the list of ways he hurt her.

But it’s not Shannon. The hands are too large, for one thing. Then he sees the face and remembers, _Buck._

Eddie draws in a long, shaky breath.

“Inhale, good, that’s it.” Buck doesn’t seem scared, just concerned. “Hold it, two, three, exhale.”

Part of Eddie objects to this. _Be a fuckin’ man, Diaz. Pull yourself together._ But Buck doesn’t sound pitying. He’s not treating Eddie like a child. He just sounds—honestly he sounds like he knows what it’s like.

Buck keeps chanting quietly for him to breathe, a quiet rhythm, and eventually Eddie’s breaths even out.

The dreams—the nightmares, he should say, but he shies away from that word, curls away from it like a pillbug—are starting to space themselves out. They’re not as frequent. But they’re still fairly regular.

_You think you’re some big war hero now? Grow up._

Eddie shakes his head, tries to dislodge the voices that latch onto the sides of his thoughts like parasites. He waits for Buck to ask, to guess, even to kick him out.

Instead Buck says, “What can I do?”

Eddie stares for a second, the question so out of left field that it takes him time to understand it. “What can you do?”

Buck nods. There’s no judgment in his face. No pity. Just warmth.

“Um.” Eddie rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Did I say anything?”

Buck’s hand slides up to Eddie’s arm, his thumb rubbing over the tattoo. “Enough for me to guess… Iraq?”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn’t—he can’t. “You asked—what you can do?”

Buck nods.

Eddie reaches up, crosses what feels like an ocean, and wraps his hand around the back of Buck’s head. “This.”

He guides Buck down and kisses him.

Buck goes stiff for a second, and Eddie has a wild moment of panic that he fucked this up, that he’s fucked up, he _is_ a fuck up, of course he is—but then Buck relaxes, melts, almost, and kisses him back.

They kiss like that, until Eddie’s muscles learn how to unclench, one by one, until he can focus on Buck’s lips and tongue and can push the shadows away. But it’s not enough, it’s not quite enough, he wants every single thought shoved out of his head, he wants to be so overwhelmed that the nightmares can’t do it for him, he wants…

Buck’s hand slides down, gingerly, almost tentatively, trailing along Eddie’s hipbone like he’s unsure if he should be progressing things. But God, that’s exactly what Eddie wants.

“Can you fuck me?” he murmurs.

He doesn’t know from experience, but he’s heard that some guys can be real particular about which position they want. If Buck always wants to catch, then that’s fine with Eddie, but he hopes…

Buck goes still everywhere else, even as he peppers kisses along Eddie’s jaw. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He wants something new. He wants to feel like he belongs to someone. Like he’s precious to someone, not a screw up.

Buck fumbles for the supplies, and Eddie spreads his legs. He can’t help but be a bit tense as Buck’s fingers draw close to his entrance—he’s never so much as thought about touching himself there before—but Buck goes slow, taking Eddie’s cock in his mouth and tucking it against his cheek, sucking almost lazily as his hands massage with certainty into Eddie’s thighs.

Mmm okay, yeah, that feels good. This, Eddie’s used to. He relaxes into it, lets Buck work him up, get him nice and hard—and then Buck goes even lower.

Eddie has to hold in a yelp when he feels Buck’s tongue there. Yeah, he’s eaten Shannon out plenty of times, he can grasp the theory of doing the same or similar to a guy, but—he hadn’t thought really about what it would feel like.

And it feels really fucking good. It’s this interesting play of pressure and softness, and it’s making him melt. He genuinely feels like Buck’s connected to his spine and he’s making it fucking liquify. He can’t feel his fucking muscles, it’s just all sliding away and he’s collapsing into the bed, panting, absolutely losing it.

Buck takes his time, and Eddie kind of wants him to go faster, but he also knows he should trust Buck’s judgment in this. Buck’s the expert here, not him. So he tries to be patient, his leg thrown over Buck’s shoulder as Buck licks into him, twists his tongue in, over and over until Eddie might actually kick the guy.

Just when he thinks he’s going to lose it, Buck slides a finger in. The lube is cold, and Eddie shivers—but it warms up quickly as Buck strokes him.

It’s weird. Okay. Not going to lie. If he didn’t have first-hand evidence of how good it feels (Buck might be a stripper but he can’t possibly be faking those noises) he might be doubting Buck right about now.

Then Buck adds a second finger, and Eddie relaxes more—and it starts to feel good. Buck’s fingers quirk inside him, curling, searching, and—ohhhhh fuck.

He lets out a surprised half-moan and Buck finally pulls his mouth away, stops licking around his fingers so that he can flash Eddie a grin. “Yeah, there we are.”

Buck sounds so pleased, like a puppy that performed a new trick, and Eddie kind of wants to ruffle his hair and call him a good boy.

“Just you wait,” Buck says, and then he gets right back to it. He strokes Eddie steadily, hitting that spot on every third thrust or so, like he wants to get Eddie worked up but not too quickly.

 _Slow and steady wins the race,_ Eddie thinks out of nowhere, and he nearly laughs.

He might be a bit hysterical right now.

Buck slides his fingers out, and moves back up, his hands on either side of Eddie’s shoulders. “Are you sure? Because I can just finger you—”

“I’m sure.” He’s come this far. He wants to go all the way.

Buck nods, rolls on the condom, and gently moves Eddie’s legs a little further apart. He looks a little nervous, which is sweet, and Eddie nods at him. He just wants to get out of his fucking head.

For a second, he thinks _how the fuck is that gonna fit_ , and then somehow Buck is, pushing inside with a careful but inexorable slide, bit by bit, giving Eddie room to breathe in between. He’s watching Eddie’s face with slightly wild eyes, like he’s scared of hurting Eddie, and Eddie strokes through Buck’s hair, ghosts his mouth over Buck’s jaw and the corner of his mouth. Buck isn’t hurting him—yeah it feels weird, and it feels like a _lot_ , but it doesn’t hurt—and if it did, Eddie would tell him.

It really is a lot. Eddie’s panting by the time Buck’s halfway in. This is what he needed tonight. He can’t think about anything other than this feeling of being split, filled, and every bit of concentration is going into just remembering how to fucking breathe. There’s no room for guilt or bad memories here. It’s all just sensation.

Buck whines, high in the back of his throat, shaking a little as he pulls out just as slowly as he went in, and then starts the push all over again. He gets in farther this time, and Eddie can see it’s hard (no pun intended) to hold himself back, to keep from just thrusting the way his body craves.

“You’re doing so well,” Eddie praises, because that’s how Buck seems to like it. Praise seems to light the guy up inside. “You feel good, really, really good.”

Buck whines a little at that, turning his head, and Eddie kisses him, gives what Buck’s wordlessly asking for. He strokes his hand up and down Buck’s back, nails scratching oh so lightly, and Buck’s lips shiver against his.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Eddie keeps praising. “That’s—” He cuts himself off as he feels Buck’s hips go flush against his, bottoming out, and holy _shit_. It hits him all at once that he has an entire cock inside of him, and he feels a little debauched but also fan-fucking-tastic.

Buck kisses him again and again, tongue sliding in and out in a messy imitation of fucking, his body frozen. Eddie wonders why the fuck he’s not getting on with it, why he’s just holding still—and then he realizes it’s because Buck’s waiting for his signal.

“ _Such_ a good boy,” Eddie blurts out before he can stop himself, and Buck gives a desperate noise that’s half moan, half strangled whimper. “You’re good, I’m good, you can move.”

He did need that second to adjust because, well, Buck’s a big guy, but he kind of wants to keep up that feeling of too much, maintain that raw edge. He wants to stay overwhelmed so that nothing else has room to creep into his mind.

Buck does as he’s told, and he tries to stay slow at first, Eddie can tell, but the poor guy quickly loses track of that and starts thrusting into Eddie hard, his hips snapping as he drives all the way into Eddie every time—and Eddie loves that. He loves that without even trying, he’s still driving Buck insane. Making Buck lose his mind.

He isn’t the most flexible of guys—the military isn’t known for its yoga programs—but he is pretty limber, and so he wraps his legs around Buck, keeping him from pulling out too far, locking him in. Buck gives a long groan and starts giving him these grinding little thrusts that keep him deep inside, and _fuck_ , yes, that’s what Eddie wants. That’s fucking perfect. He kisses Buck wildly, trying to convey that without saying words because he just—isn’t good with words but he’s good at this.

And then _fuck,_ that’s the angle that—that’s the good one, the one that makes him light up, and Eddie feels like Buck’s shoving the pleasure right up into his goddamn throat. He can fucking _taste_ it. His fingers dig into Buck’s back, probably marking it up, but he can’t help it, it’s really—he can’t even think coherently, it’s so—fuck, _fuck._

“Oh my God,” Buck moans, burying his face into Eddie’s neck. “You feel—you feel so good, Texas, oh God, you’re good, you’re so _good_ …”

Eddie gets his hand on Buck’s ass and squeezes, enjoying the way it makes Buck shove into him deeper. He needs to hear that. Needs to hear that he’s doing something right, for once. That he’s good. Not a disappointment.

“Ohhhhhh yes,” Buck moans—and Eddie has no idea how Buck is so shameless in bed, how he has no problem being loud and begging and out of control, but he loves it. He wishes he could be that shameless. Wishes he knew how to let it all go.

He’s so fucking thick inside of Eddie. Nothing’s ever remotely felt like this. And yeah, he thinks generally he might prefer it the other way, but right now, it gives him something besides the memories to focus on. Something real and deep. He can’t focus on anything other than this cock splitting him wide, and that’s perfect.

Buck sounds like he’s the one who’s losing his mind, but Eddie’s right there with him, panting frantically as he does his damnedest to hold Buck in place so that Buck never ever fucking stops touching that spot, never stops grinding his cock against it. He realizes that he’s thrusting down onto Buck, shoving himself onto Buck’s cock so that he gets more—he’s being greedy, but he doesn’t care, it just—he wants— _fuck—_

He doesn’t want it to end, so he doesn’t touch himself. He’s not sure if he can come this way, without a hand on his cock, but he almost doesn’t care so long as it keeps this going. Buck sounds absolutely desperate, like he’s trying to hold out, and Eddie wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to come, that Buck doesn’t have to wait, but he can’t find the words.

And Buck, God fucking bless him, keeps at it, his mouth sucking at Eddie’s neck, giving Eddie those perfect thrusts until Eddie’s orgasm is dragged out of him, piece by ragged piece, and it feels like someone’s ripped claws through his chest.

Buck feels it—of course he does, Eddie just clenched around him instinctively and there’s now come all over their chests—and loses his goddamn mind completely, a low, almost wailing sound torn from him as he shakes and thrusts and comes.

Eddie soothes him, stroking his hand up and down Buck’s back, kissing the side of Buck’s face, along Buck’s shoulder. Buck’s gasping, flushed from head to toe, and it’s pretty clear that the guy pushed himself past his limit waiting for Eddie to come first.

Eddie feels a bit like someone took him apart and hung him out on the washing line to dry, but in a good way. “That was really, _really_ good,” he promises Buck. “That was really good, you made it good for me.”

Buck shivers, nuzzling at Eddie’s jaw in a shameless, wordless plea for kisses. And, well, he’s so cute, how could Eddie refuse?

“You are really fucking hot,” Buck admits, sounding embarrassed, his cheeks pink.

“Oh, thank God,” Eddie replies. “All that sex was feeling really platonic.”

Buck chokes on a laugh. His eyes go all squinty and crinkle at the corners when he laughs. In a post-orgasm haze, that feels significant somehow. “I’ll… um, get us some tissues.”

He doesn’t mention the nightmare or ask if Eddie’s okay, thank God. He just cleans up and then flops on top of Eddie like Eddie’s his personal body pillow.

“Do you hafta go in th’ morning?” Buck asks, his voice muffled by sleep and the fact that his face is jammed into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie idly traces patterns into Buck’s back. He does that with Christopher sometimes—he’ll draw a picture with his finger, or write a word, and Christopher has to guess what it is.

There’s the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, but he doesn’t actually have to do anything before that. His morning is free.

“Not right away,” he concedes. The world won’t end if he plays hooky and just shows up to the rehearsal directly from Buck’s.

Buck makes a pleased kind of humming noise and just like that, the adorable idiot’s asleep.

And thank fuck, Eddie’s so sated and exhausted, it doesn’t take him long to follow after.

He doesn’t dream of anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed and his first thought is, _fuck, I scared him off._

For a wild second he completely forgets that he’s in Buck’s apartment and that Buck can’t have just run off like a thief in the night. And then when he remembers, he’s certain that Buck must just be avoiding him, waiting for Eddie to leave.

Shannon got real good at that in the end. Avoiding him.

It’s his fault. He’s always been ready to admit to that. He ran off to war, first when he found out Shannon was pregnant and then again, and he can claim it was to support his family all he wants but it was still leaving her high and dry. Christ, he never even married her, how can he say her anger was anything but justified?

Shannon’s mom hadn’t really cared one way or the other but boy oh boy, Eddie’s parents had thrown a goddamn fit. There had been some rosary clutching among his elder relatives. But Shannon hadn’t been sure about marriage and all that and he’d been literally running away from the entire situation so… and then… well. He’d wanted to do it right. Give her a proper wedding, after all he’d put her through. So he’d figured he’d wait and propose when he was finished with his tour, give her something really nice, they could do it right…

Instead he’d come back in January with PTSD and Shannon’s mom had cancer and there had been fights and he sure as hell wasn’t going to say ‘hey let’s get married’ while they were arguing every day and his parents were making comments at the both of them (sometimes he thinks the only real thing that he and Shannon were united in was their frustration with his mother’s belittling) and Shannon said _I want to move to Los Angeles_ and Eddie had said _I need time_ because he couldn’t leave his entire family and the only place he felt safe while he was still waking up screaming every night and—

He’d woken up to a note. His words thrown back in his face. And a son asking where his mom had gone.

Shannon left in April, and it’s the beginning of September now. Is six months long enough to move on? To have a torrid fling? Not that he’d call Buck _torrid,_ that’s not Buck at all.

Fuck. He scrubs the heels of his hands across his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. He shouldn’t have stayed over to sleep. He should’ve gone back to the motel and ridden out whatever lingering shadows might come alone. Shannon’s known him since they were sixteen and she couldn’t handle him (maybe she could’ve if he’d done right by her, maybe—) so why should someone he’s known for only two, three days?

That’s when he hears the shower turn off, and he realizes belatedly that he could hear the water running, a noise so quiet, steady and mundane that he didn’t even think about it.

In its absence, he notices that the other side of the bed is still warm. There’s a bit of steam coming from the slightly-open door that leads into the tiny, cramped bathroom. Coffee’s brewing in the coffee machine on the kitchen counter.

Well, now he just feels like an idiot.

The door opens and Buck emerges, completely naked, toweling off his hair without a damn care in the world. Eddie’s no slouch in the looks department, but he can’t quite grasp the sheer unselfconsciousness that Buck possesses. Buck doesn’t seem to even be aware of his nudity, he just finishes with his hair and ties the towel around his waist with an air of complete casualness as he walks over to check on the coffee.

Eddie watches as Buck gets out two mugs and pours the coffee, hovering with a hand over one of them, brow furrowed in intense concentration. At last he goes to the fridge, grabs some milk, and pours a bit into the mug, stirring. To the other mug he adds another touch of milk and then—Eddie winces—four sugar cubes.

He sits up as Buck turns around, a mug in each hand, and Buck smiles. His smiles are fucking blinding. “Hey, thought you might want a pick-me-up.”

“What, no bacon?” Eddie teases. He accepts the mug that Buck hands him. He’s a no-sugar guy, actually, so it works out, although he usually prefers a bit more milk. Doesn’t matter, he could use some damn bitterness this morning. It helps wake him up, helps sharpen him and take away the last shreds of nightmare.

Buck sits down on the bed, watching Eddie casually as he sips his own appallingly sweet drink. “You doing okay?”

Eddie should’ve known Buck would ask about it. “Yeah. I mean. As okay as you can be.” He pauses. He’s not sure how much to tell. He hasn’t talked to anyone much about it. His parents and Shannon know the bare facts. The rest of his family knows only that his mission went bad.

All Christopher knows is that his father won a medal.

“I was in the military,” he settles on. “Two tours, 2011 to January, this year. I saw a lot of shit. Sometimes I… dream.”

That’s not all of it. PTSD isn’t just nightmares, although that’s all people and the media seem to talk about. Show him a TV show or a film with a vet, he’ll show you a few hammy scenes of the vet having nightmares. Trauma, Eddie has come to find, is more insidious and pervasive than that, not nearly so obvious. It loves to pop up when he least expects it, in the broad daylight, which somehow makes him feel that much weaker.

But he does have nightmares. And they do fucking suck.

Buck doesn’t say anything for a minute. He just focuses on his coffee. At last he sets the mug aside on the nightstand and puts his hand on Eddie’s knee. “That’s rough, buddy.”

Eddie nearly spews his coffee everywhere as he chokes on it, laughing. He was a bit old for the cartoon when it came out but his younger sisters fucking loved it.

Buck grins, looking triumphant. “Hey, it’s a good line! What else are you gonna do, right?”

The wild thing is, Buck’s _right_. Eddie hates it when people apologize (it’s not their fault) or when they say he was a hero (they weren’t there to know). The sympathy in their eyes makes him want to disappear, just sink into the earth.

But _hey, that’s rough_ , just an acknowledgment that it really does fucking suck—that’s actually really nice.

The joke helps, too.

He drains the rest of his coffee and sets the mug aside, next to Buck’s. “Okay, asshole, just for that, c’mere.”

Buck comes willingly, like he’s been waiting for permission, and when Eddie kisses him Buck presses into it with eagerness.

Eddie’s not all that good with his words. Especially with saying things like _thank you_. But he hopes Buck figures it out anyway.

* * *

Relief floods Buck’s chest as he’s kissed. He has no idea what to say in bad situations. He just feels this horrible aching inside of him, like someone’s cut his chest open, and this unending desire to take it all away, to find that person’s pain like it’s a tumor and yank it out, take it on himself if that’s what it takes. At the end of the day, that’s really all he wants—to help people.

It’s an underrated part of being a stripper, honestly. Not that he’s here to say that stripping is a noble profession fraught with deep emotional meaning and society’s got it all wrong. Stripping can be fucking demeaning, and frustrating, and he’s treated like an object half the time—but he really does get to make people’s days better. He gets to make people smile when they’re down, and flirt with people who normally wouldn’t get flirted with, and make them feel confident again. He can take a person’s mind off of their bad day.

Talking to someone, though, it can be harder, and what do you do with something like this? With trauma? He doesn’t have trauma. He doesn’t know how it feels. So he’s just grateful that somehow he found the right thing to say. Something that, even if it doesn’t help, at least doesn’t make anything awkward or the trauma worse.

“So.” He figures, distract the guy, right? That’s the best course of action. “You said you had free time before the whole… rehearsal tonight?”

Texas groans in relief and flops back onto the pillows. “Technically I should be with the family but they keep telling me to relax and this is what I find relaxing, so…”

“Uh, I hate to say this, but if you’re finding sex with me relaxing I think I’m doing it wrong.” He neatly sidesteps the fact that Texas clearly doesn’t feel comfortable around his family. Buck knows a little bit about that. And the last thing he wants to do is talk about it.

Texas raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh. Oh _you_ think that we’ve been pretty athletic, don’t you?”

Well that’s a challenge if Buck’s ever heard one. “What do you consider athletic, then?”

And that’s how he ends up on his knees getting fucked like he’s going to end up breaking the bed.

He’s got a cock so far into him he can feel it in his fucking throat, and teeth fastened around the back of his shoulder, undoubtedly making a deep mark against his skin that probably no amount of makeup is gonna cover. Texas is keeping a hard and fast pace, relentless, and Buck’s lost track of how much time has passed but holy shit the man has fucking _stamina_.

Generally, he likes to see the face of the person he’s fucking, but there’s an intimacy to this, plastered together, being held almost, and he loves the way that Texas has a hold of his hips and is just fucking into him like he’s trying to prove a point.

A lot of the time his partners will want him to fuck them from behind, or fuck him from behind, and he always obliges them because hey, whatever makes them happy, right? But this is the first time that he feels like it isn’t impersonal, like he isn’t just being used as a fucking machine—pun definitely intended. Like this is still personal and intimate for Texas.

And _fuck,_ the guy’s hitting that perfect spot every single time, Buck’s vision keeps whiting out and he feels like there’s a star exploding inside of him, over and over.

Well, the military sure fucking explains where Texas got all his muscle from. And every square inch of that muscle is currently being used to fuck him relentlessly. Has it been hours? It feels like it’s been hours. What the actual fuck.

His mouth drops open on a moan, a long, loud one that trails off into a whine until he can’t get any words out at all, just staring into nothing, and Jesus fuck he is never, ever going to be able to walk again after this, fuck fuck _fuck_ —

Texas has an arm around his waist but he’s not touching Buck’s cock, which is incredibly frustrating. Even just a brush of knuckles against it would be enough at this point, he’s so hard and aching, he needs it so fucking badly but Texas isn’t doing anything and Buck can’t get a hand to do it himself because he’ll lose his balance and he might go insane from this. He shoves himself back onto Texas’ cock, whining again, hoping maybe—he’s so fucking high with pleasure, maybe he can come untouched for once, maybe—oh God oh God—but it’s not fucking _enough_.

He drops his head down and tilts his hips up, his toes curling at the deep angle. Texas stutters in his rhythm, and finally releases his mouth’s death grip on Buck’s shoulder to groan.

At last, at _last_ , Buck feels a hand wrap around his cock and he sobs with relief and desire as Texas starts to stroke him, just rough enough that Buck can’t come right away, squeezing the base and Buck might actually fucking cry because he’s so fucking close.

There’s a kiss to the spot where Texas was biting, and he hears Texas murmur, “So fucking perfect, yeah,” and Texas twists his wrist and Buck can’t fucking hold it back, he comes hard, and okay having him wear a condom too was definitely a good idea because he’s orgasming so bad he’s gone fucking blind.

Texas keeps fucking him through it, right up to the point of pleasure that’s bright and hot and too much and then back down through the other side, until he’s shaking with aftershocks, and only then does he feel Texas orgasm.

He can’t feel his legs. Or his arms. His head is swimming on cloud nine.

Texas pulls out and Buck manages to fall to the side, pulling off his condom and tossing it into the trash can. Texas does the same, then lands on the other side of him, a pleased, smug little smirk on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Buck groans.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Buck scoots in so they’re nose to nose. His shoulder stings, but in a good way. He’s savoring every ache.

Texas’ smirk turns into a grin. “You laid down a challenge, I answered. Now you know better.”

“Yeah, I do. I haven’t been fucked that hard in my fuckin’ life, man.”

Texas looks rightfully proud. And, well, Buck just has to kiss that look off his face.

This part is different too. Very few of his hook ups want to spend time afterwards lazily kissing. Once the orgasm happens, everything’s over. But Texas has stayed before, and he stays now—in fact he seems as eager to sink into a nice, slow makeout as Buck is.

It just keeps getting _better_. Every time they know each other’s bodies a little better, they know more of what the other one likes, and so the sex just keeps reaching new heights.

Kinda makes the other sex he’s been having feel empty.

They roll around a bit, kind of lazily wrestling, until Texas ends up on top, and Buck can just slide his hands through all that soft hair, over those miles of tan skin and firm shoulders, as he’s kissed and anchored by Texas’ weight.

Texas presses him down hard at one point, and Buck hisses as pressure is put on his bite mark. Texas lightens up at once. “Fuck, sorry about that.”

Buck shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” He can feel his face heating up with a blush. “I. Uh. I like it.”

“The sting?”

“Kind of. The marks, more.”

Texas hums, looking pleased, and kisses him again, stroking Buck’s arms, his sides, his face. He’s so fucking _tender_. Buck’s had a few hook ups that were obviously using him for a rebound, people who wanted him to be slow and soft so that they could pretend he was someone else, but that’s not what he feels from Texas. It’s like this is just who Texas is, someone who’s warm and affectionate because he just can’t help himself.

Buck’s soaking it up like a sponge with water.

He wants to keep soaking it up. He doesn’t want to let this go.

He doesn’t want to let Texas go.

* * *

Eddie’s got no idea how long they kiss for, but it’s a while. He just can’t make himself fucking stop. He’s used to being in a committed relationship, where sex is another form of affection, and the last few times he and Shannon had sex it was… rough. It felt more like another form of fighting, or a way to blow off steam, rather than a way to express love or connect as a couple.

This was what he was missing. This is the warmth and affection he was craving, long before Shannon left him.

It helps that Buck’s a damn good kisser, and an eager and affectionate lover in general. He makes Eddie greedy, and Eddie just hopes he’s not taking too much, being more intimate and familiar than Buck wants.

If he is, though, Buck isn’t saying anything about it.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Buck murmurs, his fingers carding gently through Eddie’s hair. His voice is soft and warm, and fuck, Eddie wants to sink into it. “There’s this great place down the street…”

“Yeah.”

“Or we could order take in. If you want.” Buck sounds hesitant, and Eddie realizes—it’ll be the first time they’re together outside of this apartment. Out of this strange little pocket world they’ve made for themselves.

Buck’s a stripper. And there sure isn’t a neon sign over his head advertising it, but he’s probably had a lot of people be reluctant to go somewhere in public with him, just in case.

Eddie doesn’t give a flying fuck, though. He’s hungry, and he wants to go outside and take a stroll, actually enjoy the city instead of spending his whole time resenting it because it’s tied up with complicated family politics.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Let’s go out and get some lunch.”

Buck grins, wide and sweet.

They take turns in the shower then get dressed, and Buck lets Eddie borrow one of his shirts. It’s warm out, summer still clinging to the air, but not unpleasantly so. And Buck keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they head to the place—the owners know Buck, apparently, and greet him with smiles and questions about his health and is he eating enough and who’s his friend—and they eat in companionable silence at one of the corner tables, Buck’s leg pressed against his the whole time, a grounding warmth.

It’s nice. He hasn’t just… gone out like this and had a nice time with someone in years. Between tour, and his family, and coming home and Shannon and Christopher he just… hasn’t been able to just take some time. Have a nice meal with someone. Enjoy their company. He’d forgotten how good it could feel.

Sometimes, as they walk, the backs of their hands brush. Buck doesn’t do anything about it, but he doesn’t move away, either, and Eddie tries to keep his face under control every time it happens.

 _That’s not what this is,_ he scolds himself. Even as their shoulders knock into each other on every third step. They’re getting lunch, because they want some damn lunch, and because he likes spending time with Buck and frankly he’s avoiding seeing his family. This isn’t anything.

Does he want it to be something?

“So,” Buck asks, as they enter back into his apartment, “Any particular reason you’re avoiding the wedding or…?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he helps Buck strip the bed and throw the sheets into the washer-dryer system that’s in the closet.

“You don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to,” Buck adds. “But it’s clearly on your mind. You keep going quiet and I haven’t been to a whole lot of weddings but even I know you should probably be getting ready for shit right now.”

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “It’s… complicated. They’re a lot to handle, that’s all. And they don’t agree with all of my choices in life.” He pauses. “I think they also—my aunts and uncles—don’t really agree with all of my dad’s choices, and I’m kind of wrapped up in that—and my parents and I aren’t… doing so hot. And the family’s going to ask about it and they’re going to notice. And then there’s the whole. Y’know. Tour thing.”

He leans back against Buck’s kitchen table, bracing his hands on the edge of it. “There’s a lot of shit that’s gone on in my life lately, and everyone’s got an opinion on it, and some of them want to smother me with attention and I can just feel their pity and it—yeah. And other people expect me to be fine. And I don’t know which is worse. So it’s easier to just… not be there. So I don’t have to talk about it.”

Buck leans back against he wall across from him, folding his arms. “You could always bring me as your plus one,” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows and giving Eddie an _I’m adorable_ smile. “I could do a dance for the bride, y’know? Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

Eddie laughs in spite of himself. That would alienate his entire family for the rest of his life, but it might almost be worth it. “Oh my God.”

“I could pull a _Fifty Shades of Grey_ ,” Buck adds. “Give you a handy under the table during dinner.”

“What!?” Eddie’s heard of the books, but _what._ “That is not a thing.”

“It’s totally a thing! I read the books!”

“Why would you read those, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I was bored and everyone was talking about them.” Buck shrugs. “And yeah, there’s a scene at like—a charity ball or something and she rubs his cock through his pants.”

“And nobody notices?”

“Nope. Because everyone’s blind and deaf I guess.”

Eddie shakes his head, grinning. “If I ever need to make everyone hate me, I’ll give you a call and you can do that for me.”

Buck ducks his head down in an _aww shucks_ kind of way. “Hey, I get how much family can… be a pain. I’m happy to be a party-ruiner.”

“Trust me, it’s tempting. If only to watch all my aunts and cousins trip over themselves to flirt with you.”

“Ah, but I’d tell them I’m only here for one guy.” Buck pushes himself off the wall and saunters over, hooking his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops. “Can’t go as your plus one and then flirt with a bunch of other people.”

“Very classy.”

“A classy stripper, right? Who knew?”

“Well.” Eddie reaches out, wraps his hands around Buck’s forearms, feels the play of bone and muscle under his fingers. “If I ever do need to find someone to give me a public handjob, I know who to call.”

Buck snorts with amusement, smiling at him, and it’s _soft_. It’s soft and comfortable, familiar, intimate, and suddenly it’s too much. It’s slipping into a territory that Eddie can’t fucking afford to be in, it’s too close to drowning. There’s a soft, warm creature melting in his chest and spreading through him, waking up, coming to life, and he has to stuff it down back into a box, freeze it, _something_.

He can’t step out onto a rickety bridge that might not hold him. Not right now.

He has to get them back onto familiar territory.

So he reaches up, feels through Buck’s shirt at the back of his shoulder, where the bite mark from earlier is. Buck hisses a little, but his eyes are bright.

“You said you liked the mark.”

Buck nods. His cheeks go pink.

“You want a few more?”

Buck visibly swallows, then nods, his cheeks getting even darker. “Please.”

Eddie launches forward and kisses him.

Buck stumbles back a little before he properly catches Eddie’s weight, and Eddie claws Buck’s shirt off with only a second’s break in the kiss. If he’s being perfectly honest with himself (something he can admit he struggles with), lately it feels like everything is being taken from him. His sense of purpose, his ability to be responsible, to take care of his family. His squad, his friends, scattered to the four winds once his tour was up. Shannon—gone. Christopher—

He wants to mark something and make it his.

He can’t do soft. If he does soft right now he’ll break and he can’t do that, not on the eve of his cousin’s wedding when he has to go back home to three jobs and no plan and no idea what to do while he’s feeling so incredibly alone and worthless—he can’t break. He can’t.

But he can do _this_.

He bites at Buck’s mouth, kisses him until Buck’s lips are red and swollen, and then he sets his teeth to Buck’s jaw. Buck’s whining and rutting against him, just letting Eddie do this, letting Eddie take control and do what he wants, and fuck, the guy has no idea what a fucking blessing that is.

The bed’s still just a bare mattress and it’s too far away anyway so they end up on the floor, Eddie undoing Buck’s jeans and shoving them down, putting his mouth all over Buck’s chest. Buck said he had the next few days off which is a good thing because God, Eddie’s gonna give him so many hickeys the guy’s gonna need a pound of makeup to cover it all.

“Lucky I—cleaned the—the floor yester— _fuck_ ,” Buck moans as Eddie gets his mouth around a nipple and sucks. Buck’s sensitive just about everywhere and his nipples are no exception. Eddie hadn’t realized that this was something guys could be just as into as women and he is taking full advantage.

Eddie takes his time with that, and then moves down to Buck’s abs. God, he loves tracing these with his tongue. It never gets old. Buck whines and clutches at him, arching up and going stiff and still as Eddie bites and sucks another mark into him, like he can’t even get himself to move because of the pleasure.

It’s because of _him._ Because of Eddie. The softness has vanished and in its place is a roaring in his chest, in his ears, and this—this is what he needs, this is safe territory.

He pulls back and undoes his pants as he goes to grab the lube and condoms, coming back with two of the latter and slipping the first onto Buck—and then follows that with his mouth.

“Fuck!” Buck’s nails try to dig into the hardwood of the floor and fail, leaving him writhing without an anchor. It’s music to Eddie’s ears.

He’s still not as practiced at this as Buck is, still feels a little awkward, but Buck doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Eddie loosens his throat and relaxes as much as he possibly can, going down over and over. He’s not going for finesse, here, he’s going for making Buck come as fast and as intensely as possible.

Buck gets his hands in Eddie’s hair and pulls, tugs, his heels scraping his heels against the floor as he pants and begs. He begs like he’s been fucking training for it, like he practices, figuring out exactly what to say to drive Eddie wild—and yet at the same time it’s so genuine, so raw, his voice sounding wrecked, and Eddie can’t handle it, he’s so goddamn hard he might lose his mind.

He’s a little unsure if he should let Buck orgasm now or after Eddie fucks him, but—go big or go home, right? He plants his hands on Buck’s hips and pins him to the floor as he takes Buck down far—almost too far, he nearly gags—and he tries swallowing.

Buck moans, a surprised tone lurking around the edges of it, and Eddie feels him coming into the condom. A surge of triumph fills him, and he pulls off, putting his own condom on and grabbing the lube. Buck’s got a whole mess of marks all over his body now, from his hips all the way up to his throat, and Eddie revisits each one as he works Buck open.

Here, _here,_ he’s in control and he’s doing something right and Buck is _his_ and can’t be taken from him and he can’t be belittled or shamed for it—he pulls his fingers out and puts his cock in perhaps a little too early but Buck just locks his ankles around Eddie’s back and takes it with enthusiasm, even as he whines with oversensitivity, fuck, he’s just so _good_ to Eddie, he trusts Eddie, he takes what Eddie gives him—

Earlier, when they fucked, it was pretty damn rough, but not like this. That was Eddie proving a point, fucking Buck for literally as long as he possibly could, keeping it up and keeping Buck on the edge. This is rough in a different way, a raw, ragged edge to it, this is harsh and biting (literally) and he wants it, needs it, craves it, because it’s _safe_.

He fucks and comes like a goddamn freight train and Buck’s encouraging him the entire time, whispering nonsense words, petting him and kissing his temple and being so fucking good to him and Eddie…

It takes everything in him not to run.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s just after ten at night when Buck gets a knock on his door.

He’s been enjoying a quiet night in, which means he’s been watching TV and telling himself it isn’t moping.

What? The hottest man he’s ever seen shows up in his life, fucks him silly for three days, and goofs off with him in between—goes out to lunch with him, drinks beer with him, sleeps with his arm draped over Buck’s waist—and now Buck’s had to deal with over 24 hours by himself, he’s entitled to a few withdrawal symptoms.

He can’t quite put his finger on Texas’ mood when he left yesterday afternoon. There was something different in the way he’d fucked Buck that last time, on the floor. Like for the first time he was seeing Texas be… desperate.

But after that the guy helped him clean up and they watched soccer on the TV and everything seemed fine. Casual. Texas even kissed him goodbye.

So he’s not sure… what’s going on. But there’s something.

Is it the wedding? Weddings make people crazy. He can remember Maddie’s. Doug didn’t like Mom and Dad and Mom and Dad liked his status but not Doug himself, so it was a fun, interesting time playing the middle man while Maddie looked radiant but also oddly reminded him of a crystal glass set right next to the edge of a table. The tiniest slip and it would go crashing to the floor, shattered.

That was the last time he saw Maddie, actually. She had her honeymoon and then it was just… she was busy. And he was in college, and then not in college, and… yeah.

Anyway. It’s probably just the wedding.

So he’s lying on the couch and trying to focus on whatever sitcom rerun is playing and he’s decidedly _not_ thinking about texting Texas when the knock sounds.

He probably should do something besides just look through the peephole, but it’s not like he’s got a lot to be robbed over. The TV. Some very expensive shampoo and makeup. A rather nice collection of underwear. He is not the guy that random burglars want to pay a visit to, and he hasn’t pissed off any client spouses _that_ badly.

To be honest, he knows who he hopes it is when he looks through, and for once he’s not disappointed.

He opens the door and Texas—wearing a goddamn _suit_ , holy shit—steps in. He’s all polished up, his soft fluffy hair tamed down, stubble gone (alas), sporting a navy-blue suit that was clearly tailored and Buck’s about ready to drool, his tie loosened and the top couple buttons undone. He looks like he stepped off a stage or a dance floor, and it’s a little more polished than Buck prefers him, it feels a little like Texas has stifled himself, but _fuck,_ it’s a very, very pretty picture.

And then the guy holds up a bottle of top-shelf tequila. Okay, now they were talking.

“I snuck off,” Texas explains, as Buck closes the door behind him.

“You paid your dues,” Buck agrees, grinning. “And took the spoils of war. I’ve got cups.”

He heads for the cupboards while Texas opens the bottle. Buck pours, itching to undo that tie all the way, to shove that suit jacket off. But he’s not sure if he wants to rush this. There’s an odd, sort of fragile feeling in the air, like a soap bubble about to burst.

“How was it?” he asks. “Besides the obvious.”

Texas downs a shot and takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves. Hell yes. His forearms are gorgeous. All of him’s gorgeous but Buck’s a bit of a sucker for forearms, and arms in general, and _hhhnnnggghh_.

“It was… all right.” Texas shrugs, grabbing the cup and bottle and heading for the couch. Buck follows. “It just kind of reminded me of… y’know. All I don’t have.”

Buck downs his own shot and immediately pours another. “Yeah I’ll fucking drink to that. My sister got married a few years ago and I just felt fucking empty inside the entire time.”

Texas nods, undoes his tie and drops it somewhere, takes off his shoes. Buck’s stomach thrills at how casual he is about it, at how Texas feels comfortable enough here to do that.

“Do you want to keep talking about it?” Buck asks. “Or do you want to be distracted.”

Texas seems to consider this. He looks at the bottle, up at the ceiling, and then finally at Buck. He’s got a smile lurking just behind the corners of his mouth and his eyes are crinkled up at the corners, like he’s assessing Buck and likes whatever he’s finding.

It’s been a while since Buck’s felt like people like what they find in him. Once they get past the whole… abs and tattoos and sex thing.

Texas raises his cup, as if in a toast. “Distract me.”

Buck’s good at that.

He can feel where that was going, the hint in the voice, the eyes, all of it, but he dodges that and instead just starts chatting about the club. He hasn’t gotten the chance to really talk about his work with anyone. He can talk about it with his coworkers but sometimes he just wants to ramble on to someone who’s unconnected to the rest of his job, and people don’t really want to hear about him working as a stripper. They… judge.

But Texas knows, and he doesn’t judge, and he listens with a smile that gets lazier and easier as Buck really gets into it, gesturing with his hands, imitating what people were doing and where and with whom. He asks questions, seems genuinely concerned about the dickbag Jazz who’s trying to steal Buck’s work slots, and he laughs when Buck tells him about all the crazy shit that’s happened.

And they keep drinking. Fuck, do they keep drinking. The room’s pleasantly hazy as he goes on about how Layla (the bartender) and Sugar (one of the dancers) are totally dancing around each other—ha, irony—and how Layla should just top the poor girl already and put her out of her misery—

Texas moves across the couch and takes Buck’s face in his hands, staring at him like Buck’s a puzzle.

“What?”

Texas shakes his head. “Just… you.”

“Me.”

“You.”

It’s probably the tequila, but there’s something profound in that. Texas is stroking his thumbs back and forth, pressing against the corner of Buck’s mouth, and his look is almost awestruck.

Then he leans in, careful, like it’s the first time, and kisses him.

They’re both far too drunk for the kiss to stay careful for long. It turns sloppy, Texas pinning him down on the couch, arms and legs everywhere, discombobulated, and he nearly elbows Texas in the face at one point but Texas just laughs and pulls him in again.

“Love the suit,” he manages to gasp out at one point, tugging at Texas’ shirt. “Sure would be a shame if something happened to it.”

“Is this your way of telling me you want me naked?” Texas asks, laughing against the hollow of Buck’s throat. Fuck, he loves the guy’s laugh. It’s soft and throaty and feels like it’s just for Buck to hear.

“Maybe.” Buck wiggles his hips pointedly. He’s very good at the whole wiggling thing. He’s paid for it.

“Says the man in sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s too fucking small for him,” Texas shoots back. “You know they come in larger sizes right?”

“I like ‘em like this.” His words come out a little soft around the edges, but he wouldn’t say they’re _slurred_ , exactly. This really is good tequila. “Shows off… stuff.” He flutters his eyelashes. “I wanna show off for you.”

“You want to show off for everyone,” Texas laughs, but he _is_ laughing and that’s Buck’s goal, so Buck feels terribly warm inside.

“Maybe.” Hey, if you got it, you flaunt it, right?

He manages to get Texas down to his underwear, and then Buck’s just down to his sweatpants, and at that point things stall because they’re kissing again, deep and messy, and he really should finish with the clothes but his hands are in Texas’ hair and he can’t pry them off, not for God or money.

They should move to the bed, they really should, and they will—but he’s got that pleasant buzz in the back of his brain, in his bloodstream, in the tips of his fingers and toes, and he’s hard but not quite desperate yet, and it just feels so _good_ to have someone warm and happy in his arms, someone who likes him, someone who _sees_ him, someone who’s stayed.

Except.

Texas can’t stay.

He’s going home soon. The wedding’s over.

Buck swallows, pulls back, then tries to kiss Texas again, to regain his composure, but Texas starts kissing softly along the curve of his jaw instead, little nibbling kisses (God, the man’s got a serious oral fixation but Buck is far from complaining), almost as if he’s started to catch whatever it is Buck’s feeling.

“When are you…” The rest of his sentence trails off when Texas revisits one of the hickeys on his neck, which is fantastic because Buck wasn’t sure how that sentence was going to end anyway.

“Tomorrow morning, we’re driving back up to Texas.”

Fuck.

Suddenly he needs more room to spread out, he wants Texas covering every damn inch of him, he wants skin on skin and a tongue in his mouth and he doesn’t want to think about tomorrow.

He shoves lightly at Texas’ chest. “Up, up, c’mon.”

Texas sits back and Buck stumbles to his feet—the room spins, okay whoa, fuck, he’s drunker than he thought—and he shoves his sweats down, steps out of them, and grabs Texas’ hand, and tugs him up and towards the bed.

He also gets the man’s underwear off. Fuckin’ finally.

They fall back onto the bed and Texas goes right back to kissing him, a little more ferociously this time, as if he’s realized there’s a timer and it’s counting down. Buck loops his arms around Texas’ neck, and lets himself get lost. They’re grinding together lazily but there’s no way that either of them can take it further, not with so much alcohol in their veins, and Buck just savors the sweet low hum of arousal that teases him, not unlike the kind he gets while at the club.

Except this is better.

Texas drops down to plant a kiss on one of the other hickeys he left yesterday, and Buck groans. “I’m gonna get so much shit for that at work.”

“They’ll just be jealous.” Another kiss on another mark. As if Texas is apologizing for getting so rough yesterday. As if he needs to apologize. Buck fucking loved it and he’s up for a repeat performance any time.

Soon, these will be the only thing of Texas he has left.

Buck shoves that melancholy thought aside and grabs Texas’ shoulders, hauling him back up in a show of strength that has Texas grunting in surprise, then chuckling. “Needy boy,” he teases, and _fuck_ , who else is going to talk to him like that?

“Yeah, but you like it,” he shoots back.

He gets a kiss in response, which definitely means yes.

He’s too buzzed to have any sort of finesse in his kissing right now but Texas is just as bad so he doesn’t seem to mind. Buck sucks on his tongue like he’s being paid for it, shoves his own tongue inside Texas’ mouth in exchange, bites, licks, and gets just as good as he gives. And he knows what Texas likes, now. Three days of fucking the guy and he’s figured out how to kiss just the way Texas wants—sweet and deep and with just a hint of teeth now and again.

Texas fits his hands around Buck’s hips, like they’re fucking made for doing just that. “I forgot.”

“Mmm?”

Texas doesn’t respond at first, just keeps kissing him, so Buck pokes him in the shoulder. “Forgot what?”

“How nice it is.” Texas brushes his lips against the corner of Buck’s mouth, like a secret. “Just doing this.”

Yeah. Buck forgot, too. It’s the delight of middle school, all you know how to do, but then you learn what sex is and so you race to the finish line every time and you forget that the journey’s just as nice. Sometimes you don’t even need a finish line at all.

“You’re nice,” Buck replies, which… sort of carries the same sentiment.

Texas huffs out a laugh. “You don’t like me when I’m nice. You like me when I’m…”

“I do, though. Like when you’re nice.” It feels important that he says that. “You’re the nicest guy I know.”

Alcohol is _not_ the friend of eloquence.

Texas pulls back and cocks his head at him, like an inquisitive German Shepherd. “Well you’re the nicest guy I know.”

Buck grins and shrugs. “I’m easy on the eyes too.”

“Yeah you are.” Texas kisses him again, and they just… don’t stop.

The words trail away and it’s just kissing, over and over, until Buck literally yawns into Texas’ mouth and Texas bursts a gut laughing, his head resting on Buck’s shoulder, smiling up at him. The guy’s got a blinding smile, megawatt, it could outshine the Vegas sign’s neon glow.

They’re naked and on top of each other in bed, but this is possibly the most PG night he’s spent with someone in years.

His eyes slide closed without meaning to, and he feels Texas shifting, getting more comfortable, taking some of his weight off so Buck won’t get crushed. Buck feels a soft kiss to his throat. His shoulder’s still being used for a pillow.

If he could stop time, this is the moment he’d choose.

 _I might be starting to fall in love with you,_ he thinks, and then the alcohol and the exhaustion blissfully carry that thought away, away, away, like a paper boat down a river.

* * *

Eddie has no idea what time it is when he wakes up, he just knows it’s far too early. It’s not six, not yet, they’ve still got a few more hours, he can feel it—but when did they go to sleep?

He raises his head to check and Buck shifts, blue eyes blinking open at him.

They never turned off the TV. The cool blue glow is the only thing lighting up the room, bathing them in its surreal light. It feels like nothing else in this world exists.

He’s still a bit drunk, so it can’t have been too long since they fell asleep. He hasn’t had that much tequila—that much alcohol, period—in years. Thank God his dad always insists on driving because he’s probably going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow. Top shelf or no, he hasn’t had much besides an occasional beer since he got home in January. His body is _not_ going to be happy with him.

But right now he’s still a bit drunk, just enough that the world’s a bit blurry at the edges.

Buck’s eyes are bright in the television’s glow. He looks like something out of a dream. Not the romantic kind, but the soft dark ones, the ones where you feel more than see, and you wake up feeling bereft, like you were robbed of something.

Eddie doesn’t want to feel robbed. He’s so tired of feeling robbed. Buck’s the only thing he’s had that’s _his_ , the only thing he’s done right, the only thing that nobody’s tried to take away from him—and now he’s losing even this.

Buck’s looking at him like he knows.

Eddie doesn’t want to talk. He can’t—he just—so he leans down and kisses Buck instead, stale alcohol breath be damned.

Buck gasps a little and kisses him back.

It’s slow. He slides his hands up and down, reminding himself a final time of the body he’s grown to know so well, revisits with his fingers the little divots, the corded muscles, the dips and rises of his ribs, the jut of his hipbones, the tender marks Eddie’s own mouth left, the tiny cuts and bumps that come with living.

They kiss, and keep kissing. He doesn’t want to leave the warmth of Buck’s mouth. On the contrary he wants to crawl inside. To curl up where it’s safe and never leave.

He reaches blindly for the lube and condoms—he knows where they are by now—and Buck hikes his leg up, gets one hand around the back of Eddie’s head and the other around Eddie’s bicep as Eddie braces with his left hand and slicks up the fingers of his right, moving down.

Three days ago he had no idea how to do this. Now he sinks two fingers into Buck without a second thought. He rests his forehead against Buck’s for a second, just feeling that connection, the warm puffs of Buck’s breath against his face.

He swears he can feel Buck’s heartbeat against his fingertips.

Buck hitches his leg up over Eddie’s shoulder, adjusting, and Eddie curls his fingers, stroking him slow and steady. He wouldn’t say he’s an expert yet, but they know each other well enough by now that he doesn’t have to ask, doesn’t have to speak, he can just kiss Buck slow and sucking as he fingers him open.

He knows he’s being soft. He knows that he’s being everything he shouldn’t, that he’s letting himself be open and vulnerable, that he’s kissing Buck with all the words he didn’t say before, all the fears that have been stalking the corners of his mind and the emotions he can’t find a way to release from the back of his throat. But it doesn’t feel real, right now. The only real thing is Buck, and so it’s okay.

Eddie adds another finger, really wants to make sure Buck’s stretched out, and Buck tightens his grip in response—and it’s as if a dam breaks. He kisses Buck harder in response, and Buck eagerly takes it all, drawing Eddie’s tongue into his mouth, sucking enthusiastically. God, he hasn’t felt this kind of addiction, this kind of _infatuation_ , since—

He shoves that thought away and draws his fingers out, rolling on the condom and slicking himself up, just to be sure, before he slides inside. Buck whines a little, like even this moment of distance is too much, and he pulls Eddie back into him immediately, going back to kissing him hungrily, frantically.

 _This is it._ This is the last time, the last time he’s going to be with Buck before he has to leave, before he has to go back to his regular life, to the real world. And he loves the real world, or at least parts of it—he adores his son, and he does love his family despite how hard it’s been lately—but he also doesn’t want to leave this safe place, this refuge where he’s not himself, he doesn’t have any of his baggage, he’s not _Eddie Diaz_. He’s just Texas.

Buck squirms, digging his heel into the small of Eddie’s back, urging him on. Eddie holds on a moment longer, pressing his mouth into the hollow of Buck’s throat. Like it’s a safe place, a hideaway.

Then he moves.

Buck’s usually pretty damn loud (he has no clue what Buck’s neighbors think of them and he’s glad that for once he doesn’t care) but tonight, it’s like he’s fallen under the same spell that Eddie has, and he only pants and occasionally gives a small, choked noise, like a swallowed cry. Eddie tries, he tries so hard to be gentle, but he can’t help it, and he nips and bites just a little bit, playfully, reminding himself of the way the curve of Buck’s jawbone feels against his teeth.

He gets his arm up and around so that he can hold Buck’s leg up, his fingers digging into Buck’s thigh, and he selfishly hopes that he leaves marks, there, too.

Buck’s nails drag down his back on either side of his spine, and he wonders if Buck’s thinking the same thing.

He doesn’t have a ton of leverage, holding himself up with just the one arm, but he doesn’t really want to slide out all the way, anyway. He wants to keep himself buried in Buck’s heat, riding that edge of overwhelmed. They’re not so much kissing now as sharing breath, half-hearted, messy attempts to capture each other’s mouths as he shifts angles until he finds the one that makes Buck seize up around him _holy Jesus fuck_.

Eddie’s got no fucking clue if Buck does that on purpose, as some kind of encouragement when Eddie finds the angle he likes best, or if it’s involuntary, but either way it makes Eddie’s eyes want to roll back in his head. Fuck, fuck, _yes_. He makes short, sweet, dirty little thrusts and Buck welcomes them every time, his teeth seizing Eddie’s bottom lip and tugging hard, literally dragging him down into a filthy kiss, as the sound of skin against skin starts to punctuate the low static buzz from the TV.

It’s insanely ordinary, two men fucking in a half-decent studio apartment with the appliances on and just a cheap mattress holding them up, dime store lube and condoms, the both of them smelling like alcohol and generic two-in-one Ocean Breeze shampoo—but, and maybe this is just the alcohol still swimming in his stomach, his blood, his brain—it feels like so much more in spite of, maybe because of, all of that. He feels like, in basking in the ordinary (and oh God, how he’s missed the ordinary while overseas) he’s found the sublime. The sacred.

It feels like this was what he’d been hoping to find when he came home from war.

He’s shuddering all over, just drunk enough that he probably won’t last for much longer, so he shoves his cock in all the way and just fucking grinds against Buck’s prostate, and Buck inhales sharply, trembling against Eddie’s mouth. A proper whine escapes him and Eddie laps it up, swears he can almost taste it.

Buck clenches around him again, and _fuck,_ he can fucking see stars. He moves his hand further down, grabs Buck’s ass and hauls it up, forcing their stomachs together so that Buck’s cock is trapped between them and Buck can rut up against Eddie. Buck sounds like he’s been running for miles, his breathing fast and punchy as he claws at Eddie’s shoulders, and God, Eddie hopes he leaves marks, draws blood, leaves bright red scratches where nobody but Eddie and the bathroom mirror can see them.

 _Yeah, yeah, go on, take it, so desperate,_ he thinks, but for once he can’t manage to make his mouth move, to form the words he knows Buck likes so much, so he just kisses him instead, everywhere he can reach, and hopes Buck understands anyway.

Buck takes the opportunity and runs with it, and Eddie’s overwhelmed with Buck’s response, with how Buck’s just so—everything, so, he doesn’t even have _words_ , fucking— _fuck_. It’s been this way since the lap dance and he hasn’t gotten any better, hasn’t become any more capable of handling Buck touching him, grinding against him, fuck, _around_ him, all that tight heat just his and his alone to drive into and chase. His thrusts become deeper, matching Buck’s movements, staying in sync, and Buck releases his grip on Eddie’s shoulder to run his fingers through the hair at the back of Eddie’s head, soft and fond.

Something inside of Eddie feels like it’s breaking.

Buck tilts his head and kisses him deep, and Eddie feels him spilling over onto Eddie’s stomach and his own. He loses his rhythm completely, his body pinning Buck down, Buck’s thigh falling from around him and splaying out on the bed where Eddie can press down, spread Buck even wider, and revel in the orgasm that seems to explode at the base of his cock and then rocket up through his chest, his spine, rattle through his skull like fireworks.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. He has the emotions, but not the words. He never has the words.

Buck stares up at him, his eyes hooded, his lips slightly parted, and even with the bluish TV glow tinting everything oddly, Eddie can tell his face is flushed. He’d take a picture, if he could.

He feels warm fingers softly trailing through his hair. “Do you have to go?”

Eddie lowers himself, turns onto his side. His legs tangle with Buck’s and their foreheads press together. He can finally get a good look at the bedside clock. “In about an hour.”

He needs to get back to the motel and pack. They’re heading out at six a.m. Dad believes in early starts for car trips.

“Back to your namesake,” Buck jokes softly.

Texas. That’s what Buck calls him. That’s all Buck knows him as, Eddie realizes. He can’t recall if he ever told Buck his name but he’s pretty sure, thinking back, that he didn’t.

He still doesn’t share it. He doesn’t want to be Eddie right now.

He doesn’t really want to be anyone.

There are so many things he could say, but to say them would be to say the other things. The things he’s trying not to think about, the things he’s going to have to deal with once he gets back home. His not-wife and how she left with only a sarcastic note. His son. His parents. The feeling that he is never good enough, and will never do things right.

He can’t say _thank you_ without explaining why thanks are necessary.

“Don’t go handing out your number to every Texan boy you meet,” he replies. “They’re not all as nice as I am.”

Buck laughs. It doesn’t sound like his other laughs.

Eddie sets his alarm on his phone, Buck gets tissues to wipe them up, and they fall asleep again at some point. Buck’s face is tucked into Eddie’s neck, like he’s hiding there. Eddie knows the feeling. They’ve slept in a tangle the last few nights, but this is the first time Eddie’s actively holding Buck.

He’d forgotten what holding someone felt like.

He’d forgotten that he likes it.

* * *

Buck hears a brief blare of noise—and then feels the mattress shifting. He’s swimming just below the surface. He can see the sun reflecting on the water, but he’s not quite coming up for air.

There are several uncompleted thoughts floating around in his mind like flotsam from a shipwreck. He lets them float. He’s floating, too.

There’s a mouth pressed to his hair. At the bolt of his jaw, below his ear. At the corner of his lips. A thumb scrapes against his cheek.

It’s gone, and so is the warmth. He didn’t realize how warm he was until it vanished.

There’s… things he needs to say. He can’t remember them. He tries to move—the water’s too heavy.

Sounds. They’re familiar ones but he can’t name them. For some reason they mean loss.

The front door quietly clicks closed.

He sinks.

* * *

His parents are gonna wonder what makes Eddie so fucking cranky this morning. They’re also going to assume it was because he stayed late at the reception and drank too much with his cousins, and that’s fine by him.

Buck was asleep when he left, and he feels like shit for it, but he couldn’t find anything to write a note on and what would he even say? Buck knew he was leaving and he wasn’t gonna wake the guy up and exhaust him just so—what, Eddie can be a fucking sap and hug him?

There was no way he could do it without making it awkward. How do you tell your four-night-stand that hey, you’re kind of the only friend I had, and you’re the only person besides my son I’ve felt comfortable with in almost a year, so thanks for that?

Yeah, Eddie’s not ruining a good time with _that_ nonsense.

So he sneaks out. And he only kisses Buck a few times before he goes. Just to remember what it feels like. He can still remember the odd feeling of loss the first time he left Buck’s apartment, when he didn’t kiss him goodbye and found himself wishing he had. It’s stupid. _Brush it off and move forward,_ Dad always says.

And he will. But he’s—he’s glad he did that. He’s glad he kissed Buck goodbye. Even if Buck might not remember it and probably won’t care either way.

Buck’s a fun, outgoing, friendly guy. He’s got jokes and charisma and that adorable puppy attitude out the wazoo. He gives his number out to people all the time, Eddie’s sure. Or gets their numbers from them. Eddie’s nothing special to a guy like Buck. He won’t be that one hookup that ‘made it weird’.

Dad insists on driving, or at least starting out the drive, and Eddie (for once) is not going to fight him on it. He just takes the front passenger seat and presses his aching head to the window, watching the city disappear as they get onto the highway. The desert is vast. He’d forgotten just how much. He likes it, more than he ever has before. It matches.

It was a break. A vacation. Just what he needed. Sex and relaxation and a weird almost-friendship.

There’s no reason to feel so empty inside.

There’s no reason to feel like a desert.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With special thanks, again, to extasiswings, who spots all of my horrid typos so I can fix them before releasing this monstrosity into the world.

He wakes up to an empty bed and tells himself it doesn’t matter.

It’s four days. Three? Four. Three and a half. Something like that.

He’s pretty sure, when he closes his eyes and relaxes every part of his mind, his body, he can feel the ghost of a kiss at his temple, at his jaw, at the corner of his mouth. The sounds he couldn’t identify before, too sleep-addled, in retrospect are obvious. Like seeing a monster in the dark only to turn on the light and see it’s your clothes thrown over a chair. It was Texas getting dressed in his clothes again and leaving.

At least he left the tequila.

Buck cleans the sheets, takes out the trash, and tells himself it doesn’t matter. If their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t want to wake up Texas, either. What would he even say? _Thanks for the fucking?_

Yeah, fuck no.

So he gets it. Really he does. He got a goodbye kiss, at least. Three of them. Soft and sweet. He doubts Texas sees himself that way, but it’s what he’s shown to Buck.

And at the end of the day, he’s just a good lay.

He goes to work, makeup over the increasingly-fading marks, and he tells himself it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter when he gets teased by the others, who ask if he slept with a rabid squirrel. Doesn’t matter when the hickeys fade away and there’s nothing left to remind him.

A goodbye doesn’t change what came before. It wouldn’t change anything, really. Texas has to leave and go home. Buck has to stay, for a while at least, until the wind blows him somewhere else. It’s the story told by countless movies, by fuckin’ _Mamma Mia_ of all things: the brief vacation fling. Getting to say farewell doesn’t suddenly make it all better.

So he tells himself it doesn’t matter.

* * *

Working three jobs has got to be one of the levels of Hell that Dante forgot about.

In Eddie’s bitterest moments, he thinks that he was right to go on a second tour. It was only one job, and it provided for his family better than these three are, and he saw Christopher just about as much then as he does now.

But he also knows that’s avoiding his own cowardice and giving himself a free pass. He was running away, leaving Shannon to deal with this on her own, and he wasn’t really being a father.

At least now he’s managing that last part.

Doesn’t mean he isn’t exhausted all the time. He never sees Christopher as much as he wants to. Each moment with his son feels stolen. And he’ll keep stealing every moment he can, because Christopher is the most precious thing in the world, bar none, but he wishes he could just relax and indulge in being a father instead of feeling like he’s trying to hold onto water.

And fuck, Christopher deserves better. He deserves a father who doesn’t fall asleep on him when they try to play video games. A father who isn’t shuffling around like a zombie or running out the door to get to work on time.

The kid knows it, too. Christopher’s smart. Always has been. But he’s not just smart with numbers or at school. Christopher’s a listener. He understands people. In a way sometimes Eddie feels like he’s learning from his son instead of the other way around—learning how to see things the way Christopher does, seeing right to the heart of things, no bullshit. And right now, Christopher can see that his dad’s tired and sad.

Eddie doesn’t want to stay that way.

He wants to be happy. Partly for himself, although he isn’t always sure that he deserves it. But mostly for Christopher. How can he help his son be happy if he can’t even help himself be happy?

Part of it is that there’s no one to talk to. His only friends are from the military and they all live far away. None of the other parents at Christopher’s school are single. And none of them have kids with special needs. He’s not about to join a… group… and the idea of joining some online forum terrifies the fuck out of him.

There’s nobody to talk to, no one he feels comfortable with, and he tells himself that’s why he dials Buck’s number.

And okay. Maybe—just maybe—it’s because he misses the guy’s warm, soft voice, and the taste of his skin, and his smile.

Just maybe.

He puts Christopher to bed. “Did you brush your teeth?”

Christopher beams at him, showing off his teeth. Eddie laughs. “All right, good job.”

He kisses Christopher goodnight and tucks him in, reaches to turn out the light. “No story?”

Fuck. He’s exhausted, reading a book will probably put him right to sleep. But… “Sure. One story, can’t stay up too late.”

Christopher picks out _The Little Engine That Could_. He’s a bit old for it now but it was a book just about the whole family read to him over and over, trying desperately—without too obviously—to impart to Christopher the idea that he really can do anything so long as he puts his mind to it.

Eddie wraps his arm around so the book can be right in front of both of them, and manages to get through the whole thing without passing out in the middle.

It’s worth it for the look on Christopher’s face. Fuck, he loves his kid.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?” Eddie puts the book away and turns the light out for good this time.

“Can you really do anything? If you think you can?”

It’s a question every child asks their parent at some point. And for some kids, the answer’s easy. But for most kids… the parents have to lie. Just a little.

Eddie isn’t sure if he’s lying or not when he replies, “Of course you can. You can do anything you want to do.”

That satisfies Christopher, who settles down, and then Eddie can finally crawl into his own bed.

He tries to pretend there aren’t butterflies in his stomach.

He props himself up on the pillows and calls the number he has saved in his phone under simply ‘B’.

_We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service or has been disconnected._

Eddie pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it, as if the tiny blue screen will give him more answers than the one the automated voice just provided. It’s—okay, it’s been a month, but that’s not too much time, is it? Why would Buck change his number?

…oh. Oh he’s a fucking idiot.

Buck’s American. He was in Mexico, but working as a stripper. It’s now the end of October. End of tourist season. He’s probably gone home to the United States—and gotten a U.S. number to go with it, dumping his old Mexican one. The one he gave Eddie.

Part of him curls up into a sour twist at the fact that Buck didn’t text him to warn him about the number change. But he knows that’s not really fair. He didn’t text Buck when he left, either. It’s a two-way street.

Eddie puts the phone down and curls up on his side. Tells himself he’s not disappointed.

* * *

Buck knows he can’t stay here forever.

Autumn’s coming. Tourists aren’t coming. People aren’t holding weddings or going out partying. There just isn’t as much clientele, and he could stay and compete for good shifts, work more hours, really hustle, but… this wasn’t ever supposed to be permanent. This was just supposed to be something to get him money while he lived in another country, traveled, explored. It was a way to get the fuck out of dodge after college didn’t work out and he didn’t want to deal with Mom and Dad and he needed to sort out his fucking life.

If Mom and Dad ask, he’s been bartending in South America. Which. Well. He did a little bartending.

He just found that stripping paid better. And he has more fun.

It’s time to move on though. It’s been almost a year of traveling around. He’s got to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life.

He can’t stop thinking about Texas.

Not just about the man himself, but about the time he woke up from a nightmare. The wild look in his eyes as Buck had realized Texas wasn’t really seeing him, but something, some _where,_ else entirely. The heaviness in his voice when he’d talked about being in the military.

Texas gave something of himself to help others. To keep people safe and protect them. Buck had known that the guy wouldn’t appreciate it if Buck said it, but Buck knows Texas is a good man for that.

And fuck knows, Buck could use a sense of purpose.

He never found out what branch of the military Texas was in, but he does a little research and decides to be a Navy SEAL. Why not, right? He can help people. He can perform a service, actually give back and fucking do something with his life.

And if it’s inspired by one man, if he sometimes still thinks about Texas’ soft dark eyes late at night while he cuddles his extra pillow…

Well. Nobody has to know that. He sure as hell isn’t putting it on his application papers.

* * *

It’s six months since the wedding when Eddie gets the text from Jesus.

_Yo, remember that time you got fucked by a stripper?_

The text is accompanied by a video attachment.

Eddie nearly drops his phone, jumping off the couch, heart racing out of the gate and trying to go for the gold in the fifty-meter dash. Fuck. He vaguely recalls seeing Jesus pocket his phone after the end of the lap dance, but he’d been a little busy dealing with his orgasm at the time so he hadn’t thought anything more about it.

He peers down the hallway. Chris is still asleep.

Eddie really, really shouldn’t…

He grabs his headphones.

The lighting in the club is such that there’s a strange interplay of neon light and deep purple-tinged shadow over Eddie and Buck in the video. Looks like Jesus started filming earlier than Eddie thought—the video starts with Buck walking over and Jon saying that the dance is for his cousin, indicating Eddie.

“Well hey there, Texas,” Buck drawls on the screen, his voice just audible over the music. “I’ll just have to welcome you here properly, won’t I?”

Eddie’s body floods with heat as he watches Buck sink down into his own lap on screen. From this angle he can see just how big Buck is—and how spread his own legs are. Christ, he was really fucking gagging for it, wasn’t he? When the lights from the club flash across his face on screen, Eddie can see his own naked desire and shock, plain for the entire world to see, and he swallows, his throat dry. He hadn’t realized he was so obvious.

Buck starts to move on him, and that—that’s when Eddie starts to realize this looks nothing like the lap dances he saw the other clients, including Jon, get while they were at the club.

The other lap dances, the dancer wouldn’t just plop into the guy’s lap straight away. They’d dance around them, showing off their ass and chest, bending over different ways, dancing along to the music. But Buck—Buck sits right down in Eddie’s lap immediately and starts grinding away.

It’s not a proper lap dance, Eddie realizes, heat rising up through his chest. It’s—it’s sex. It’s pure unadulterated _sex_.

Buck’s touching him all over, and—yup, there’s him grabbing Eddie’s wrist and guiding Eddie into touching him. Fuck. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, watching, slumping down on the couch. He can practically feel the phantom of Buck’s body against his, and watching this video, knowing what came later that night, the sheer marathon of sex he had…

…he’s a horrible person, but he’s sliding his hand into his pants.

It’s a whole new kind of hot, watching Buck from this angle. And watching Buck doing those things to _him_. Fuck. His face in the video is nuts. He had no idea he was being that obvious, that he was staring up at Buck like—like Buck’s a fucking god or something. Christ. He doesn’t just look turned on (although he does, wildly) he looks _smitten_.

He squeezes the base of his cock as on screen, Buck does his little tipping the chair back move.

And then—ohhhhhh holy mother of God.

If Eddie had thought the whole thing was sex before…

He remembers this moment. It was when Buck said something like ‘fuck this’. And on screen… Buck really does suit the action to the word.

The guy starts actively—just straight up fucking Eddie through his clothes, it’s not even a dance anymore, it’s just actual goddamn frottage, like they’re horny teenagers at a dance. There are some wolf whistles and quiet swears from his cousins, who clearly have no fucking clue what to do with the _public sex_ that’s happening in front of them. Buck could be literally pulling Eddie's cock out and riding it and Eddie’s not sure there would be all that much of a difference.

He’s unbearably turned on but he also kind of wants to die.

In spite of the embarrassment flaming up his face, it’s nothing compared to the desire licking down his spine, spreading throughout his entire body. _Fuck it_ indeed—he takes his cock out and starts stroking himself properly, watching as he gets the grinding of his life. His face on the video as he stares up at Buck doesn’t even—he can’t even look at it. Instead he looks at Buck, at the way Buck’s body moves, his face, the confidence and the sex of it—now that he’s watching with a bit of distance, as an observer, he can see how turned on Buck is, how Buck’s into it as well, and he wonders if Buck left and found a quiet spot to orgasm in, if he came after that, too.

He strokes himself faster as they reach their climax in the video, and he comes listening to his own groans, watching as his own body arches and his own legs shake, an undeniable orgasm in front of a third of his damn family.

It makes him wish he’d filmed his proper sex with Buck. He wants to know what Buck looks like in other situations. He wants to see more of that frantic way Buck moves his hips, wants to hear more of Buck’s noises, he wants—

He wants Buck.

A wave of shame hits him and Eddie exits out of the video, swallowing. Fuck. He’s not going to be hung up on a guy he knew for… not even a week. No way. And of all the times to be distracted by a pretty face and a sweet ass, now is not it. He’s got to focus on his son, on being a good father. It probably didn’t even mean as much as he thought it did—he’s just lonely and the sex was really good. For fuck’s sake.

He texts Jesus back. _For the love of God, fucking delete that video._

His thumb hovers over the ‘delete message’ button.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

He saves the video.

* * *

Buck’s been told, quite a few times in his life, that he’s too emotional. That he needs to grow up. Be a man. Stop being a girl about it.

All his life he’s wondered—if people were right. If he was too emotional, if it was a bad thing, if it made him less than, somehow. Why couldn’t he just turn it off? Why did he have to cry so easily, why couldn’t he just be a fucking adult about it, why couldn’t he be like everyone else? The way he was supposed to be? Why could he never be what people wanted of him?

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him. That the right people will appreciate it. That Maddie always said how she loves his kind heart.

Trying to join the SEALs though… it hits harder than he thought.

They want him to shut it all down. To be a machine. And he—he can’t do it. He can’t. How is he supposed to help people if he can’t feel anything? Isn’t compassion the very reason he’s supposed to do these things? Empathy? Sympathy? How is he supposed to be the kind of person who helps people feel safe and cared-for if he’s just a weapon?

He can’t even fully articulate why it feels wrong. It just does. He can’t do that to himself, he won’t, it’s a line he didn’t know he had.

So he quits.

Of course, that leaves him in LA with no fucking clue what to do in his life. He just ended up here because it’s near the border and he wanted to hike to the Hollywood sign, and now his plan is shot, the one plan he had because of—

He shouldn’t.

Should he?

He can’t call Maddie. She won’t pick up. She never does, anymore.

Who else can he possibly talk to? He fell out of contact with his childhood friends years ago. They just sometimes like each other’s shit on Facebook. His college bros? No way. His parents?

Ha. Ha. Ha ha.

It’s a stupid idea, but Buck’s entire life is a string of stupid ideas, he practically thrives on them so what’s one more at this point?

It’s seven a.m. here, which means it’s nine a.m. in Texas, right? That’s not too early to call. It’s a Saturday, too, so he won’t be at work…

Buck’s heart is in his throat as he presses his thumb to the _talk_ button by Texas’ name. He sits on the edge of the bed, his free hand shaking a little, and wonders if that voice will sound as good as he remembers or if he just exaggerated it in his imagination, in the late nights thinking about things he really shouldn’t, things he should just move on from.

The phone rings once. Twice. On the third ring he’s considering hanging up, this is stupid, he shouldn’t—

“Hello?”

A child. A child has answered the phone.

“Hello? My daddy can’t come to the phone, he’s making breakfast!”

In the distance, Buck hears Texas yelp, then groan, and then say, “Hey, uh, buddy, how about we have cereal for breakfast instead?”

“He’s not very good at cooking,” the kid tells Buck in a conspiratorial whisper.

Buck can’t help but smile. He loves kids. But—Texas has a kid. Maybe more than one. And he never—is Texas married? In a relationship?

Oh fuck, oh _fuck,_ did he help someone cheat!?

“What’s your name?” the kid asks. “I can tell my daddy.”

Buck thinks he would throw up if his heart wasn’t in his throat, strangling him. “Sorry, sorry, uh, wrong—wrong number,” he manages to croak out.

He hangs up and tosses the phone across the bed, chest heaving. His eyes sting.

Texas has a kid. Texas could be—he might have just helped someone cheat on their partner.

He feels absolutely nauseous.

Was that why Texas never shared any personal details? Why he was squirrely about his family, never really getting into it, just skirting around things? Was he trying not to mention his spouse? Christ, he never even told Buck his _name_. Not that Buck objected at the time, to be honest he’d liked the nickname and he hadn’t thought too much about it, but looking back… it’s fucking suspicious, isn’t it?

Shit. He’s never been in a relationship with anyone, so he’s never had a partner to cheat on, but he’s also never helped other people to cheat on their partners. He’s had a lot of offers from clients while he was at the club, like discontented wives or closeted men, and even before that at college parties where everyone was drunk, people would want to get with him while forgetting or uncaring in the moment what their partner thought. He’s always turned them down. He’s not that kind of guy.

The idea that he might have broken his own code without realizing it, when he has so little to cling to already, makes him just want to curl up into a ball and die.

And now he still doesn’t have an answer to his damn question. The SEALs didn’t work out. So what the fuck is he supposed to do?

He wants to help people. He wants to be meaningful to someone, anyone, he wants people to need him and appreciate him. He wants to do something _right_ for once instead of being a fucking screw up. He wants to get to the end of the day and know that he made people’s lives better.

Fuck. He can’t think like this. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV. It’s the local news, yet another wildfire. ‘Tis the season in LA, with the Santa Ana winds blowing hard and deadly from the east.

Wow, the firefighters are really on the front line there.

…firefighters.

Buck sits up straight.

He knows what he’s gonna be.

* * *

This move will be good for them.

Maybe if he keeps telling himself that, it’ll be true.

Shannon’s in LA, somewhere, and Eddie’s not too keen to see her again after two years without a single word from her, but it’s something. And Christopher, God love that sweet kid, still hasn’t fully given up hope. Abuela’s in LA too, and she’s the only relative he’s really close to besides his sisters.

They gave the go-ahead on the move. They think it will be good for him. He tries to cling to that, when Mom and Dad are less than supportive. When Mom makes her little comments and Dad gives him those stone-cold silences that chill Eddie down to the bone.

Christopher’s excited for it. Eddie might’ve hyped it up a little, but LA has a lot more opportunities for someone with Christopher’s needs. So does Chicago, but Eddie’s not a huge fan of the cold.

But if he’s really being honest, this isn’t just about Christopher. It’s not just about getting his kid close to his mother again, it’s not just about abuela, it’s not just about school opportunities or Cedars-Sinai or the better pay, only having to work one job instead of three.

It’s about getting away from Mom and Dad.

Not that he’ll ever tell them that. Mom has no fucking clue, and Dad—Eddie’s pretty sure that his dad’s figured it out, but God forbid the man actually change his behavior. Would it kill him to say _I’m sorry_?

Oh, yeah, no, it probably would.

Eddie got a second chance with Christopher and he wants to do it right. He never wants his son to feel about him the way he feels about Mom and Dad. So they’re going to LA.

Who knows, he might actually like it there. He might actually find friends, people he likes. People who make him feel like he’s doing something right.

He might actually feel like he’s on solid ground.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact ladies and germs: if you want to know what Buck looked like as a stripper, direct thine eyes to the second gif from the top on the right-hand side of this gifset.
> 
> https://kingbuckley.tumblr.com/post/622028409661489153/judsonryder-happy-29th-birthday-oliver-leon

Buck is having an interesting day.

He thought Abby was back, but instead it’s Maddie. Long-lost Maddie. Maddie who hasn’t spoken to him in three years. Maddie who made him dinner and helped him with his homework and then fled and never looked back, not even for him.

So he’s kind of in a weird place, missing Abby as usual and tentatively ignoring the Gordian knot that is his relationship with his sister, when he strides into the firehouse.

And he starts fucking hallucinating.

He’s definitely seeing things. He has to be. That isn’t—but the profile, the hair, that tan skin, those _abs_ , Buck knows them, he’s traced them with his tongue, he can feel that hair between his fingers as he tugs on it—

His mouth, his throat, his _everything_ feels dry. “Who the hell is that?”

“That,” Bobby says, “Is Eddie Diaz.”

The guy looks over at them and oh God. Yup. Buck is not mistaken.

It’s Texas.

Buck’s heart picks up and starts running right up his throat, the traitorous bastard, and Buck has to swallow hard to keep himself from choking on it. Bobby says something else, about stations wanting him, but Buck can’t hear it. His heart is too busy leading a brass band in his ears.

He knows every inch of that man’s body, but he doesn’t even know his real name. Or he didn’t, until now. Eddie. Eddie Diaz.

He hates that he likes how that sounds. The way it rolls off the tongue.

And then the guy, Texas, _Eddie_ , sees him.

Even across the station, he can tell that Eddie’s shoulders go stiff. His eyes get a bit wide.

_Yeah, it’s me, jackass._

Before he can say anything, do anything, even _think_ about anything, the alarm goes off and everyone dashes for the truck. Shit.

Eddie grabs his gear and Buck has to grab his, has to pretend his hands aren’t shaking. He’s tried so hard to put Texas behind him. He fell in love with Abby, he _is_ in love with Abby, he’s mature and he’s grown, he’s not that same person, he’s finally starting to like who he is, most days, or at least he liked himself when he was taking care of Abby. Why does the universe have to throw this at him now?

They nearly bump into each other, literally, as they go to get on the truck. Texas—Eddie’s—eyes meet his.

He looks as shocked as Buck feels.

“Buck,” Bobby says. “You gonna get in or are you waiting for permission?”

Eddie’s faces flushes, his cheeks going pink, and Buck just knows it’s in response to hearing someone call him by his stripper name.

What? He likes the name, why not keep it?

“Yeah,” he says idly, in response to Bobby, and hops up onto the truck. His ears are still ringing.

This is the worst goddamn day of his life.

* * *

“Anyone ever call you…”

Oh fuck. Here it comes. _Texas_. _Anyone ever call you Texas?_

Buck’s gonna throw it in his face. Eddie could feel it ever since he clapped eyes on the guy and saw the sheer fury blazing in Buck’s eyes.

Was it because he never left a note? Is it because Buck fears Eddie will out his old career to the rest of the station? Eddie wouldn’t ever do that, but he can understand why Buck would worry about it. And he did kind of sneak out without even leaving a text, without any consideration…

“…Diaz?” Buck finishes, the question coming out of left field.

“Not if they expect me to respond,” Eddie replies. He’s smiling, trying to keep this relatively easygoing even though Buck’s looking at him like he’s trying to set Eddie on fire with his mind.

Chimney’s looking back and forth between them, a suspicious look in his eyes. Yeah, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t sense the tension here.

His unit called him Diaz. Nobody else.

Buck’s still glaring a hole in Eddie’s head.

Also, when the fuck did the guy get so—big? Buck was fit before, sure. He had to be as a stripper. But that was just vanity. It was working out to look good flexing against a pole, it wasn’t actual strength training. Now—now his arms are the size of Christopher’s entire torso. Eddie’s not sure his hand could fit around the guy’s biceps anymore. And his _thighs_. Hoooooooly shit. Eddie wants those wrapped around—

They’re big. That’s all.

Buck is a fucking tree trunk, now, is the point. His t-shirt stretches obscenely over his chest, hiding absolutely nothing, and his muscles have muscles.

Eddie can’t escape the fact that he knows what that body looks like covered hip-to-neck in hickeys. And what those lips look like spit-slick and red wrapped around his cock. And what that voice sounds like moaning for him.

A wild part of him wants to request a transfer immediately. Go to another station. But he’s not one to run away from a fight. He never has been. Whatever this is with Buck, he can sort it out and win Buck over again, as a coworker if nothing else.

They shouldn’t be anything else, anyway. They work together in life or death situations. That is not a situation you want to throw crazy emotions into. But Buck’s a great guy, or at least he was two years ago. Eddie’s sure he can fix this, in spite of whatever blunder he made or whatever fears Buck has.

He just needs to stop thinking about sinking his teeth into Buck’s bicep. Or his chest. Or his thighs. He never did give those thighs hickeys the last time…

Oh God. Down, boy.

This is going to be… interesting.

* * *

Who exactly does Eddie think he is?

“The asshole was showing me all these pictures his niece took of him,” Buck fumes, pacing up and down Abby’s apartment while Maddie watches him from the couch. “Holding a kitten, and stretching with an axe all—like what is he trying to prove?”

“He showed you… all the pictures?” Maddie asks, an odd note in her voice. She gets up from the couch.

“I—think so? Why’s it matter?” Buck pauses in his tirade and watches as Maddie… gets… popcorn? And puts it in the microwave?

“No reason, go on.” Maddie grabs a bowl.

“Um. Anyway. He’s so smug and full of himself, and we don’t have room for a guy like that in our station, y’know?”

“You seem to know a lot about what kind of person he is, given that you’ve known him for a day.”

Buck hasn’t told her about how he met Eddie. To do that he’d have to tell her about the stripping and that would open up the chapter of their lives that they haven’t talked about, the part where Buck dropped out of college and Maddie was with Doug and neither of them spoke to each other.

“I can just tell, okay? Sometimes you can tell.” He goes back to pacing. “Eddie’s one of those guys who just takes what they want and doesn’t care about the people he hurts or the promises he’s breaking or—”

Maddie chews popcorn very loudly.

“What.”

“Nothing.” Maddie shrugs. “It’s just interesting, that’s all. So did you show him pictures that you have?”

“Um. Should I?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Maddie nods. “Show him some shirtless pictures.”

Buck squints at her. “Is this like that time you told me that I should bedazzle my clothes and all the boys were doing it and I would be super cool?”

“No,” Maddie replies, smirking.

“Right. Eddie’s a jerk, okay? That’s all there is to it.” Buck flops onto the couch.

“I think maybe he’ll surprise you,” Maddie says, her tone knowing.

 _If only you knew him like I do,_ Buck thinks bitterly.

* * *

Eddie’s trying to be patient. Really he is. It’s clear that Buck’s acting out, poking at Eddie like a puppy chewing shoes while making eye contact, almost like he’s daring Eddie to get mad at him. And Eddie’s perfectly happy to rap him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper, he just doesn’t know why Buck’s being this way.

He nearly blurts out _is this about the time you gave me a lap dance_ but just manages to change it to _what’s your problem, man?_ He wants to know, but he doesn’t want to throw Buck under the bus while he does it, and in the end he still doesn’t get an answer.

 _You’re my problem._ What does that even mean? What did he do?

Does Buck just need time to get used to him? He hopes so. It’s what’s on his mind when he has Buck come with him to deactivate the grenade.

And it seems to work. At first. They work well together, seamlessly in fact, and Eddie would be lying if he said there wasn’t a little thrill in his chest, seeing Buck’s proud smile and knowing they succeeded in something as a team.

“You know,” Eddie says, “you can have my back any day.”

Buck smiles at him, proud and pleased, and then—then his smile drops and his face hardens again. “Whatever.”

Okay, that’s it. That’s fucking _it_.

Eddie firmly ignores the part of him that wants to drag Buck to the nearest empty room and fuck the attitude out of him (God, he needs a cold shower and maybe a slap across the face) and instead waits until the end of the shift to follow Buck out to the parking lot.

“Buck.”

“Texas,” Buck drawls sarcastically, and oh, there it is. Eddie was waiting for that. Now that they’re alone, the claws are coming out for real.

Eddie tilts his head, draws his gaze up Buck’s body, assessing him. Buck’s tense all over, not quite glaring, but with a challenge in his eyes. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Yeah we can talk.” Buck folds his arms.

Eddie sighs. He’s not having this conversation in the middle of the lot where anyone walking by can overhear. He jerks his head towards Buck’s jeep. “Could we?”

Buck rolls his eyes—Jesus, the guy’s got more attitude than all of Eddie’s sisters combined—and unlocks the car.

They climb in. “So you want to tell me the reason why you’re so upset with me? Because I have to tell you if you’re scared that I’m going to rat you out or something—”

“What?” Buck looks honestly confused. “Why would I worry about that? I’m not the one who has to worry about secret pasts getting exposed.”

Now that’s a cryptic response. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone. For the record. It’s your past, your choice to share it or not.” Eddie pauses. Works to keep his voice even. “Is this… I know I didn’t… leave a note. When I left. I didn’t text you or anything. I thought… it was better just to… make a clean break. I thought you wouldn’t want… it was just a fling.”

Something flits across Buck’s face, something dark and vulnerable, but then it’s gone and anger is blazing in its place. “So you’re just going to play dumb. Great move.”

“Play dumb about what? Buck, what actual _fuck_ are you talking about.”

“About your marriage, you asshole!” Buck bursts out.

Eddie gapes at him. His jaw honest to God drops. “What?”

“I—I called you.”

…Buck called him?

“About a year after—I called you.” Buck shrugs. “I knew it had been a while. But I saved your number. Wanted to call it a few times, but I wasn’t ever—who wants a phone call from the stripper they fucked, right?”

Eddie wonders how many clients Buck had flings with who treated him like trash, like an object, who got angry when he called or texted them later.

“But I had—uh, something going on, and I didn’t know who else could help.” Buck gives a short, self-deprecating attempt at a laugh. “And so I tried calling and who do you think picked up the phone?”

…has one of his sisters ever answered his phone? Eddie tries to wrack his brain.

“Your son,” Buck says. “Your _kid._ ”

And the puzzle pieces finally start to fall into place and form an actual goddamn picture.

“He asked me if I wanted to speak to his dad,” Buck goes on, bitterness thickly coating his voice. “And fuck, Eddie, do you have any idea how much of an idiot I felt? Real convenient for you, finding a stripper in another damn country to fuck for half a week. Was it fun? Experimenting? Was I a good gay testing ground for you? Or did you find it a nice change from the usual Tinder cheating, too run of the mill for you?”

“Buck.” Eddie’s surprised at how cutting his voice is. “Shut up for two seconds.”

Buck, to his shock, actually shuts up. How about that.

Eddie sighs and digs out his wallet, pulling out the picture of Chris that he always keeps with him. He shows it to Buck. “This is my son. Christopher. I love that kid more than anything in this world.”

Buck takes the photo tentatively, like it might singe his fingers.

“And the thing is? I’m his world. I’m his everything. His mom’s not in the picture.” Eddie takes the photo back. “She ran off, about six months before I met you.”

Buck looks like he’s having to remind himself how to breathe. “…so, I feel like an asshole.” He clears his throat. “Uh. Were you two—married?”

“No. Should’ve been, probably.” Eddie puts his wallet away. “Point is, I’m all he’s got. And he’s all I’ve got.” He looks Buck in the eye. “I don’t cheat.”

Buck looks like he’s actively wishing for death. Eddie knows the feeling. “You never mentioned him. Christopher.”

“Yeah, because the sexual partner you meet on vacation wants to hear all about your kid,” Eddie points out.

“I love kids,” Buck replies instantly.

Eddie has to bite his lip to hold in a laugh. How he finds this dumbass endearing, he will never know. “Yeah, well, I love this one. And I was…”

He takes a deep breath. Clearly wires got crossed and shit got a bit fucked up. He needs to fix that, even if he hates showing his soft underbelly, the still raw and broken parts of himself. “I was trying to avoid a lot of shit. With you. Christopher… I love him but he was a part of that. A part of the family drama and his mom leaving us. While I was with you I could just—stop thinking about everything and I could just relax. And I really needed that. So I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t about hiding myself from you. It was more that I was hiding from my life.”

Buck’s expression goes soft, and that—Eddie remembers that expression well. He saw it on Buck’s face a lot that last night they spent together. “I get that,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, man, I shouldn’t have—”

He scrubs a hand across his face. “I feel like a complete idiot. I’m really fuckin’ sorry.”

“You called me and a kid answered, it was a shock, I get it.”

“A lot of clients take their wedding rings off to go to the club,” Buck adds. “It’s like… they want to be someone else, or they think we won’t pay attention to them if they’re married, or they think people will judge them so they take them off and I thought maybe… and you’re not wearing a ring now but we can’t wear metal on the job so. I didn’t know.”

“You must’ve seen a lot of shit in your time at the club, man. I’m sorry.”

Silence falls, but it’s… comfortable, or at least mostly so. There’s still tension in the air, and Eddie isn’t sure what kind it is.

Although, if he’s being honest with himself, he knows what kind he hopes it turns out to be.

They’re coworkers now. They shouldn’t. But just once, to get it out of their system, to deal with their past and their tension and get it all out of the way…

He reaches across, not even daring to breathe, and puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder. It could be a friendly, platonic gesture. It could be more. His fingertips brush Buck’s neck.

Buck looks away, out the windshield, and exhales shakily. Then he looks back, and his expression is… conflicted. “I’ve got a girlfriend. Her name’s Abby.”

Eddie slides his hand away. “Ah.”

“She’s taking a trip. Her mom died, she needed to take some time, take a break, find herself.”

“Hey, I get it.” Eddie’s not sure if Abby’s real or if she’s a lie Buck’s making up on the spot to spare Eddie’s feelings, but either way, now he’s the one feeling like an idiot and hoping the ground will swallow him. “I’m sorry about… the confusion. I know we’ve got a complicated past. But I want us to be able to work together.”

Buck nods. “Um. Earlier, you said I could have your back.” He offers up a small, shy smile. “Maybe you could have mine.”

It’s an olive branch, and Eddie’s happy to take it, use it as leverage to yank himself out of this pit of embarrassment. “Yeah. Anytime.”

He smiles at Buck, and tells himself it’s better this way, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

Eddie heard Buck call the woman ‘Abby’.

Her name’s Ali, which is close enough, he supposes. It’s really not a big deal anyway, easy to slip up. And none of it’s Eddie’s business, anyway.

It’s just. Buck doesn’t mention Abby much, but when he does, it’s like the sun rises and sets on her. Like she invented the moon and the stars. He’s staying in her damn apartment.

Eddie’s not envious.

He’s not.

He just hears Buck mention Abby and he wonders how they got together. If it was a rushed fall into bed that turned into more, the way he and Buck did. If Abby praises and sweet-talks Buck in bed, the way Buck likes. If she knows about Buck’s history.

It’s really none of his business. And trying to escape a building in the middle of an earthquake is definitely not the time to talk about it even if it was his business. But he can’t stop himself from wondering. From, sometimes, imagining, a little too vividly. And getting an ugly twist in his gut about it.

Buck’s reputation doesn’t help. Hen was oh so helpful about filling him in on how Buck used to go through people faster than a person with a cold goes through tissues. Mostly women, but she suspects a few men too. Not that Buck’s ever said anything one way or another about his sexuality to Hen or anybody else in the 118.

“Trust me,” Hen said, “watching him turn down girls offering their phone numbers has been delightful. The shoe’s on the other foot now.”

Yeah. That makes Eddie feel _tons_ better about his four-ish days with Buck. Fantastic. So Buck used to fall into bed with everyone, including Eddie, and then Abby comes along and—

It’s the stupidest thing in the world to be angry about. If Buck’s happy then what does it matter, right? And Eddie’s not judging the man for sleeping around, God no. And Abby’s probably a fantastic woman.

But…

It’s Eddie’s own insecurities, that’s all. His own self-doubt and self-loathing projected onto Buck since Buck is here in front of him and that last person he was intimate with. He knew at the time that it didn’t mean anything, so why’s he getting all tied up in knots about it now?

Sometimes, he wants to tell Buck, _I was only ever with one other person before you. The woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with._ He wants to tell him, _I don’t do casual._ He wants to say, _I kind of got stuck on you._ He wants to ask, _what does she have that I don't? Why couldn't I be special to you?_

But that’s his problem. His need to be special to someone. It’s not Buck’s burden to bear. Not when Buck is happy and misses his girlfriend so much that he mixes up her damn name with that of the woman they’re rescuing (a woman who has already had a bit of a hard day and doesn’t need her rescuers vomiting their drama in front of her).

Right. The stairs aren’t gonna work. They need a new way out.

* * *

Buck would be lying if he said he doesn’t feel anything, watching Eddie rush to his son and embrace him.

There’s that tiny child inside of him still that curls up a bit in bitterness, wondering why he never got that kind of treatment from his dad. But he’s used to that whenever he sees something like this. It’s a scar he’s long since learned to live with.

Mostly, he’s a little busy ignoring the way his heart flips as Eddie grins big as day, clearly one hundred percent adoring towards this kid. His kid. The one Buck heard on the phone.

After the triumphant reunion, Eddie brings him over so that Buck can drive them back to Eddie’s place. “Christopher, this is Buck, he’s my new coworker. Buck, this is Christopher, he’s my copilot.”

“Copilot huh? You the one keeping him in line?” Buck asks.

Christopher gives a smile that just fuckin’ melts Buck’s heart. “It’s a full-time job.”

Buck bursts out laughing. He really does love kids, and this one is especially adorable. “Yeah, I can imagine that. He’s lucky he’s got you.”

“You have no idea,” Eddie says quietly as Christopher settles into the backseat.

“Seatbelts on?” Buck asks, tugging at his own in demonstration.

Christopher shows his off and Buck gives him a thumbs up. Eddie, smiling at Buck in what Buck hopes like hell is fondness, tugs at his own as well.

Buck ducks his head away before his face heats up, looking out to make sure it’s safe to pull out of his parking spot. “So, Christopher, you feel the earthquake today?”

Christopher immediately launches into a story all about it, the whole thing apparently exciting rather than scary, explaining how it was a lot like a fire drill except for the everything shaking part, and how the principal ordered pizza for everyone afterwards while they waited for parents to pick the kids up.

“What about you, Daddy?” Christopher asks. Buck’s heart feels like it’s swelling three sizes bigger.

Eddie shrugs. “Ah, it was, you know. We had to go to a big skyscraper and help people out of there. I walked so many flights of stairs, buddy, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Your dad was so cool,” Buck says. He suspects from Eddie’s deflecting tone that he’s not the type to want to talk about himself. That’s fine. Buck can do it for him. Every kid wants to see their parents as heroes. “The building tilted so it was diagonal, like a slide! And your dad had to use a rope to climb down it and get people.”

“Wow!” Christopher sounds awed. “That _is_ cool!”

“I know, right?” Buck grins at him through the rearview mirror. “Your dad’s a pretty great guy, I think we might let him stick around. That okay with you?”

He winks at Christopher, who giggles, like they’re sharing a secret. “Yeah, I guess that’s okay.”

Buck laughs. Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope,” Buck informs him. “Christopher’s in charge around here, weren’t you paying attention?”

He can hear Christopher’s soft little snickers of amusement and feels warm all over. He’s never been a fuck up where kids are concerned. Maybe because he remembers so strongly what it’s like to be one—to crave attention and validation, to yearn for affection that never came.

“You really do like kids, huh?” Eddie asks quietly.

They haven’t talked about the other night. How Buck was a real asshole who stepped in it. How Eddie touched him and looked at him in a way that Buck knew was an invitation, and Buck turned it down. He can still feel the warmth of Eddie’s hand, the grounding firmness of his touch, when he closes his eyes at night. He can still see that hesitant heat in Eddie’s eyes.

It’s the first time either one of them’s alluded to anything said that night. It’s easier just to pretend it never happened. And if the rest of the 118 is wondering how the two of them went from at each other’s throats (or rather, Buck at Eddie’s throat while Eddie spritzed him with water like a disobedient dog) to such good pals, well, let them wonder.

Now, though, Eddie’s bringing up what Buck said. _I love kids_. Well. It was going to get alluded to eventually. No sense in making drama out of it.

“Yeah. Always have. I can’t wait to have some of my own, someday.”

“Is that something you and… Abby are thinking about?” Eddie’s voice is friendly, casual, but his gaze is careful and neutral.

Buck focuses on the road ahead of him. “Um. Not really. She’s—she’s older than I am, y’know, and she just finished taking care of her mom with Alzheimer’s so I don’t know if she—I figured we’d maybe talk about that when she got back to LA.”

Eddie hums quietly.

Does Abby want kids? Buck has no idea. He’s okay with adopting, honestly, he doesn’t care. If his parents taught him anything, it’s that biology doesn’t mean shit when it comes to loving your kids or being a good parent. He doesn’t need a child to share his DNA to love them.

But that’s the kind of talk you have with your girlfriend that you’ve been living with for a while, when you’re on the same page about being in love, when you’re thinking about possibly marrying her. You don’t talk about it while she’s gallivanting around the globe and only calling you once a month.

Not that he’s bitter.

They turn into Eddie’s driveway and Buck turns off the car so that Eddie can help Christopher out. “I’ve got it, Daddy,” Christopher insists, and Eddie backs off at once, his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender as Christopher gets himself set and heads into the house.

Eddie grins up at Buck. “He’s stubborn.”

“Wonder where he got that from?” Buck grins back. “He’s a great kid, by the way. I mean, you already know that, I know, but. Really. He’s great.”

Eddie sighs, hands on his hips. “Yeah, God bless him. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I’ll let you go.” Buck jerks his thumb towards his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie replies. “And uh—look, um.” He steps in, cheeks flushed. Buck’s heart picks up speed. “Look, I uh. My dad’s not really—I want Chris to have a lot of good role models, you know? I want him to have a community. So I was wondering, I was going to take him to the beach this weekend, if you wanted to come with us.”

Oh. For Christopher. Right. Well, Buck’s happy to be Christopher’s friend. He knows a thing or two about shitty role models growing up. He does really like the kid. And he and Eddie got along even when they weren’t fucking each other’s brains out. They hung out, swapped stories, relaxed with beer and the TV, yelling at the soccer players together. He can be Eddie’s friend. He _wants_ to be Eddie’s friend.

Besides, there’s no reason feeling disappointed like this. He already has someone. He promised Abby he’d wait for her, and he keeps his promises.

“That’d be great.” He grins. He could really use some proper friends anyway. After he moved into Abby’s place… well he was never super close with his roommates before that anyway but after spending time with Hen and Chim and the rest of the 118, people who are actually mature and have their shit together (or are trying to have it together)… he just can’t, with those old guys anymore.

So beach time with this cute kid and this coworker-slash-friend-slash-person-he-once-fucked? It’ll be fine. More than fine. It’ll be fun. And good for him.

 _You didn’t just fuck,_ that annoying voice at the back of his head whispers. It sounds like Athena. _It was more than that._

Yeah, he’s going to ignore that voice, thanks.

“Just text me and let me know when and where.”

Eddie waves at him as he drives off, and Buck settles into the seat. Yeah, it’ll be good to have a friend. He can be Eddie’s friend.

Just like he can wait for Abby.

* * *

Eddie’s seen some real stupid things in his time, but a girl getting her head stuck in a car tailpipe has to be right towards the top of the list.

When they enter the bar—which, as a Texan, he’s obligated to be offended by this horrible attempt at a proper rodeo-cowboy-style place—he immediately sees that everyone in this damn place has been drinking since last night and are all still buzzed as fuck now. At ten in the morning.

He has to remind himself that he signed up for this job. Nobody put a gun to his head.

“Hey, girls, the strippers are here!” the woman leading them teases. The group of women whoops and hollers.

Buck’s shoulders hunch just a little and he gently sweeps his arms to move the women out of his way, getting them to part. Something flares up hot in Eddie’s chest, and he tries to ignore it. It’s just a stupid joke. Buck’s probably heard plenty of versions of it over the years. Especially looking the way he does, his shirt stretched tight over his shoulders and chest. There’s no reason for Eddie to feel so fucking protective. Buck’s a big boy, he can handle himself.

“You good?” he asks, nudging Buck as they exit into the parking lot and see that yup, this is a dare gone wrong.

“Yeah, we get a lot of those,” Buck replies, his voice quiet so nobody can overhear. “Just old habits. Nobody knows about, uh, that.”

Everyone is highly amused by poor Jennifer’s situation (not to be confused with Betty, the name of the truck), even her gaggle of friends. Although, the latter seem more interested in getting a date with a hot firefighter than making sure Jennifer’s okay.

One of them sidles right up to Buck, holding her phone out to him with a hungry and hopeful expression on her face. “Just type your number into my phone and then I’ll text you so you can have mine.”

“…thanks, but I already have a girlfriend.” Buck’s tone is casual and a bit flat. Eddie has to stifle a smirk. Buck’s not interested in this woman, girlfriend or no girlfriend. “And I gotta focus right now so my captain doesn’t cut your friend’s head off.”

Eddie chuckles to himself—and God must hear him, because the next moment another woman’s pressing herself up against his side. She’s got a big smile on her face that makes Eddie feel like the poor woman at the beginning of _Jaws_.

“Hi.” The woman’s tone gets almost businesslike. “Do you have Snapchat?”

Oh Lord. “No. Aaaand I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for. I have a son.”

It’s the easiest fallback in the world. Very few people want to take on dating someone with a kid, and saying he’s got one quickly shuts off the idea that he’s into a casual hookup.

Buck, who was staring intently at Jennifer with her head in the pipe, whips his head up to look over at Eddie, making no effort to hide the fact that he’s eavesdropping.

“That’s great,” the woman replies, shrugging. “So do I.”

For fuck’s sake. Eddie shares at look with Buck, who seems both concerned and amused.

“Here we go,” Bobby says, and everyone’s attention is diverted by the fact that a very loud power tool is cutting right next to a woman’s head.

Jennifer’s head is saved, she seems fine other than being disoriented, job well done, handshakes all around. Eddie shakes his head and turns to go back to the truck. He’s done some stupid things while drunk but he can’t remember ever being quite _that_ stupid.

Buck immediately falls in step next to him. Feels like Buck falls in step beside him all that time—or Eddie’s the one following, just one step behind. Buck’s walking so close to him their shoulders keep bumping into each other. Eddie swears he never initiates it, but somehow it keeps happening. One time they were walking so close and Eddie wasn’t watching where he was going, busy looking at Buck as they argued whether a hot dog was a kind of sandwich, and the next thing he knew he was tripping over Buck’s feet and nearly landed right on his face.

“So…” Buck slides the straps off his shoulders. “Is your son really the reason you don’t date?”

“That and…” Eddie shrugs. He feels he’s been fairly honest about… things with Buck. “They weren’t my type.”

Buck glances back, then purposefully bumps his shoulder with Eddie’s, grinning. “Not my type either. Not anymore. I just meant, in general.”

“It’s complicated when you have a kid.” Is Buck… trying to set him up? With people?

Eddie feels kind of sick. Like a door he didn’t even realize he was trying to open has just been slammed in his face.

“Oh come on. That’s a weak excuse.”

Eddie goes for the throat a little. Because he’s still, in some ways, a jerk. “You live in your invisible girlfriend’s house. And you’re telling me about weak excuses?”

Yeah, the hurt look on Buck’s face sucks.

Eddie wants to take it back, wants to fix it—and then his phone rings.

It’s Abuela.

* * *

Buck drives, because Eddie’s going to run all the red lights if he’s the one behind the wheel, and the last thing they need right now is a speeding ticket.

Thank fuck, Christopher’s okay, but Buck can see the tension in Eddie’s shoulders, the slump when his aunt says that Eddie can’t keep leaving his kid with family members like this.

Buck knows that shoulder slump. He knows that look of guilt and pain. He saw it on Abby’s face constantly. The way she always had to choose between living her life and taking care of her mother. He doesn’t want Eddie to have to feel the same way.

“My nephew is a saint,” Josephina observes as Eddie hugs Christopher to him. Eddie never lights up as much as he does around his son.

Buck watches as Eddie asks Christopher about his day and Christopher immediately launches into a story in his soft voice, Eddie still holding him up like Christopher weighs nothing at all, like it’s no work to hold him, to carry him, always.

He can’t help but agree with Josephina.

He brings it up with Maddie, later. About how much Eddie adores Christopher, but the toll it takes on him. How even having excellent insurance thanks to firefighting doesn’t guarantee that he can find the right care for Christopher. That it’s all so tied up in goddamn red tape that Eddie can’t untangle it, like a pile of neglected Christmas lights.

Maddie listens to it all with an amused smile on her face. Sometimes Buck wonders if that’s where his desire to be funny comes from. When he was little, no matter what else was going on, he could always make Maddie laugh. After Maddie and their parents had another fight, he’d find her and make her smile. He’d tell her random facts he’d learned and Maddie would praise him, tell him how smart he was.

She’s the only one who’s ever said he’s smart.

“So does this boy crush on Eddie mean you’re ready to move on from Abby?” she asks, joining him on the couch.

Buck frowns at her. He’s still with Abby. There’s nothing to move on from.

Maddie tilts her head at him and gives him that look, the one he hates. It’s the look of older siblings everywhere, the one that says _I understand and you don’t, but you will someday, because I am older and wiser._

Buck squirms. So Abby hasn’t really talked to him lately. So what? He said he’d wait for her. He keeps his promises. Abby knows that he does. If things were really over, Abby would tell him so. She’d tell him to stop waiting. What does she think, that Buck will just get bored? He’s living in her apartment. Does she think that he’s just bringing people back here to sleep with? Yeah, right. He’d never do that and Abby _knows_ that, because Abby knows him.

If it was over, Abby would tell him. He promised he would wait. He keeps his promises.

Maddie’s eyes get sad—Maddie’s eyes are sad a lot, lately, even though Buck politely pretends not to notice—and she thankfully changes the subject to moving.

…which, actually.

Between that and thinking about Abby, Abby and her mom… it gives Buck an idea.

He asks Eddie over under some mildly false but entirely well-intentioned pretenses.

Eddie, of course, notices something’s up the moment he enters the apartment and sees it all in its neatly decorated and definitely not-moving-ready glory. “I thought we were helping your sister move. It looks like she hasn’t packed anything.”

Aha. Yeah. “No, all this is Abby’s.”

Eddie jerks his head up, giving Buck a look that’s… Buck can’t decipher it. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. It makes something hot slither up his spine.

“I—I lied about the whole moving thing. I mean my sister is moving, it’s just she really doesn’t have this much stuff.”

Eddie looks… suspicious, but also calculating. “What’s going on, Buck.”

“I asked you here because there’s someone I want you to meet.” He can’t keep the nervous, hopeful smile off his face.

Eddie sighs with his entire body, looking tired and disappointed. “You didn’t set me up, did you?”

He did, but not in the romantic sense.

He gets to introduce Eddie to the beautiful, wonderful, fantastic angel that is Carla.

Eddie’s face when he realizes what’s going on, the sly smile he gives Buck—it makes Buck feel like he could fucking fly, if he wanted to.

He wants to put that look on Eddie’s face all the time.

* * *

Eddie is trying really, really hard to be a good person. He is.

But he swears, God is fucking _testing_ him. Plopping Buck right back into his lap, the only person besides Shannon he’s ever been intimate with, the only person besides Shannon he’s ever felt—he’s ever—

And Buck is stubbornly, annoyingly, beautifully loyal to a woman who abandoned him months ago.

It’s like the man’s a puppy left on a leash in the backyard, wondering when his mistress will come home and give him treats and love again. She’s never coming back, but she never took his leash off, either. The gate’s open. He could go. But he’s not going to, not until he finally realizes what’s really going on. And Buck’s so fucking _committed_. He wants a partner and a family so fucking badly, and Eddie gets that, but fuck, can’t the guy see Abby won’t give it to him?

It doesn’t help that Buck fits so well into his life. Buck’s quickly become his best friend, someone he can talk to. When he gets frustrated with something, Buck’s there to listen. When he’s upset, Buck’s making him laugh. And Buck’s good with Christopher. Eddie couldn’t ever let someone into his life, platonically or romantically, who isn’t good with his son. Christopher’s his world and he will ruthlessly eliminate anyone who isn’t kind and patient with Christopher.

Buck makes him laugh, though. When the guy said he loved kids, damn, he really meant it. Christopher adores Buck, and Buck seems to adore Christopher right back. And Christopher needs more good people in his life, God knows. The poor kid went from three aunts, two grandparents, a big family—to just his dad, his great-grandmother, and one aunt.

It’s not exactly fun, the change. He gets that. He wants Christopher to have more than just him. And he wasn’t exactly surrounded by good male role models growing up. He had to learn to be a man when he had a baby. Christopher taught him how to be a proper man, and that’s not something to put onto a kid, no matter how grateful he is for it.

He wants better than that for his son. And Buck is a part of that.

When Buck invited him over to his place, and told him that he’d lied about helping Maddie move, Eddie had dared to hope that maybe… Buck had realized the truth. And that he wanted to take Eddie up on that offer—the one Eddie’s never repeated but also never rescinded.

Instead, Buck gives him Carla.

And Jesus fucking Christ it is taking literally every bit of his self-control not to ravish the guy.

He has no idea what his face looks like when it clicks who Carla is, and what she can do for him, but he does know he smiles at Buck and he knows there’s probably a lot more showing on his face that he would liked.

But God. Buck’s just given him—Buck’s given him _freedom_. His family here in LA have been supportive and loving, taking care of Christopher without complaint and without looking down on him. He knows they love him and don’t see him as a failure. But he doesn’t want to have to rely on them. He doesn’t want to keep showing them he’s not good enough. He doesn’t want to have to be _poor Edmundo, so sweet, but he just can’t handle it all, we have to step in_.

And Buck’s just given him the tools to help himself. Instead of giving him a fish, he taught him how to catch his own, and for the first time in years Eddie feels like he’s being self-reliant, no longer the charity case of the family.

Sometimes, Eddie looks at Buck and he sees someone who’s still so young, someone who’s trying so hard to sit at the grown-ups table—and Eddie feels unbearably old, like he’s the opposite, someone who grew up too fast and did it the wrong way, so now they’re both fumbling from opposite ends of the spectrum.

And then Buck will go and do something like this, and Eddie feels like they’re right on the same page without even having to say a word. Like Buck is still his safe place, the way he was in Mexico, when Eddie was drowning and just needed a rock to cling to for a while before trying to swim again. He’ll always be safe with Buck.

He also wants to fuck the guy senseless but y’know.

They finish up, him and Carla, with Buck politely serving chips and water and reading a book on… what the fuck he’s reading a book on the history of chocolate, where does this guy even get… anyway. Buck’s in the background, occasionally making comments but generally letting Carla and Eddie have their meeting, listening in without being impolite. Eddie has the feeling that Buck’s retaining all of it, that if Eddie ever needed to turn to Buck to remember a fact, Buck would jump right in and know it.

“Thank you,” he tells Carla sincerely, hugging her.

“I’ll call you and we’ll schedule some times to go look at schools.” Carla smiles at him. “We’ll get your boy into the right place for him, don’t worry.”

Buck grins at him after Carla leaves, waggling his eyebrows. “So? How you feeling?”

 _Like I can breathe._ “Pretty good. And like I owe you dinner.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Buck says, entirely serious. “Buuuuut… I could die for a Double-Double right about now.”

Eddie blinks at him. “A what.”

“…from In-n-Out?” Buck gets a weird look on his face. “Wait. You can’t tell me—how long have you been here and you’ve never had In-n-Out?”

It’s not going to be better than Whataburger so what even is the point? “No?”

Buck looks like Eddie’s just suggested puppies are overrated. “Okay, we are definitely going to In-n-Out. And you’re buying.”

 _It’s not a date,_ Eddie firmly reminds himself, although that’s hard to do with they’re in a cheerful plastic white-and-red booth and Buck’s leg is pressed against his under the table. Buck’s chattering away, talking about random facts and how proud he is of Maddie moving out on her own, and how one time he took a call with Bobby that was a bunch of women doing yoga while pregnant and they all started to give birth at the same time and that’s because full moons are—

“Buck.”

Buck pauses, a bunch of fries in his fingers being waved around for emphasis. There’s a mustard stain on the corner of his mouth and ketchup on the tips of his fingers. “Yeah?”

Eddie really should not be finding him attractive right now. He hates himself. And his life. “Thank you.”

Buck smiles, and even under the fluorescent lighting, it stands out. “Hey, anytime, seriously.”

Eddie wants to explain that no, really, it’s more than—it’s—but the words stick in his throat. He’s never been good with—talking. Saying how he feels. He tries, with Christopher, he’s read the books and talks with his sisters and abuela and listens to their advice, tries to follow it, but with adults he’s still… he fumbles.

And it really, really doesn’t help that he wants to drag Buck home and take him apart for, oh, about five hours or so.

He clears his throat. “Also these burgers are okay, I suppose.”

“Okay!?” He has literally never seen Buck so offended. “Just okay!? I don’t know what kind of crap they’ve been feeding you but—”

Eddie grins behind his hand and lets Buck’s tirade wash over him, focusing on the warmth of Buck’s leg against his. And if he wishes for more, well.

That’s his business.


	9. Chapter 9

When he asked Eddie to help him move all of Maddie’s new, shiny, store-bought furniture into her apartment, Eddie was skeptical.

“You’re not going to surprise me with cooking classes or something, are you?” he teased, flashing Buck one of those knowing grins that has Buck rethinking his entire life.

“No, but don’t tempt me, man, you desperately need them.”

Eddie, bless him, can’t fucking cook to save his life. Christopher’s figured out that Buck knows the secret to good breakfast food and has begun to weaponize his adorable smile to get Buck to come over on weekends and make pancakes and omelets and the like, but as far as he knows, Eddie still usually makes dinner from a box. Which, hey, nothing wrong with that. Buck ate Kraft mac n’ cheese and steamed broccoli most nights since that was easy for Maddie to make, or even for him to do on his own. He gets it.

But he knows where the lines are. He doesn’t really talk with Eddie about finances, but he’s aware that Eddie’s aware that Buck has a source of money other than his paycheck. Buck tries not to touch the trust fund—it leaves a bad taste in his mouth—but he’s grateful for it. Especially since it’s how Maddie got away from Doug. It was a source of income Doug couldn’t touch, couldn’t trace. The shared bank accounts, the credit cards, he could’ve found Maddie instantly with those, but thanks to Mom and Dad she could flee. She could get this gorgeous apartment and the fancy security system Chim’s currently setting up for her.

So yeah, buying cooking classes for Eddie? That’s going over the line. And Buck is very, very careful not to do that, with Eddie or with anyone. But especially Eddie. Eddie likes to do things for himself. And as far as Buck can tell, Eddie’s pretty damn good at doing things for himself. He’s raising Christopher, after all,

But he explained that no, Maddie really did need help getting all her furniture inside, so now here they are, staring down the front door to Maddie’s apartment.

“Maybe we pop the hinges off the door.”

“Or we use the jaws of life.” Buck grins at him and Eddie grins back. Eddie’s always the one grabbing the jaws of life, trying to beat everyone else to it. It’s adorable.

It says a lot about Buck that he finds someone eager to use a gigantic metal-ripping power winch tool ‘adorable’.

“No!” Maddie exits, big sister mode _fully_ activated. “I measured this three times, it should fit! Just turn it onto its side.”

Buck can’t resist. He gives Maddie a blank look. “But then it would disturb the pizza.”

Maddie’s gaze informs him that she is going to dump his body into the nearest lake. She grabs the pizza and shakes her head, going back inside.

“Ah, so this is how it feels to be the younger sibling,” Eddie notes.

“You the oldest?”

“Unfortunately.” Eddie winks at him. “Three younger sisters and they’re all unholy terrors. I’m sure you can relate.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know, I was the best little sibling ever. I was a _delight_.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

Now that the pizza’s gone they do flip the couch to get it inside, then flip it over again and gently set it down. Ta-da. Maddie’s going to be completely moved in soon. And then he’ll be alone in Abby’s place again.

He’s trying not to think about that.

Chim and Eddie head for the pizza and beer in the kitchen, and Buck joins his sister. She seems so relaxed. Happy, even. Thank God. Buck doesn’t know what to do to make her feel better, to help her recover, especially when she won’t even really talk about it. They’ve had only one conversation about it—Buck raced into the house, trying to get the TV on and catch the game, and he slammed the door behind him. Maddie jumped, then crouched into a ball, and well. He’d had to ask. _Can I hug you? Can I touch you? What can I do?_

It was like waking up to Eddie’s nightmare in Mexico. He’s never forgotten that, pulled out of sleep by Eddie sweating, thrashing, moaning softly in fear and pain. The look in Eddie’s eyes when Buck had woken him up, wild, unseeing, an animal in a trap. It was worse with Maddie. Eddie, as much as Buck had started to develop feelings for him, had only been a man he’d known for a few days. Maddie’s his _sister_.

_What did he do to you? Did he hit you? Did he—um—_

So he knows Doug hit her. Threw her around. Threw objects, shattered things, broke things, ripped things open. Punched holes in the wall.

That’s all he knows, though. That’s all Maddie seemed willing to share. There’s more, of course there is. It’s never just hitting. It’s manipulation, it’s mind games, it’s toying with emotions, it’s gaslighting. But Maddie doesn’t talk and Buck doesn’t know how to ask.

He watches Maddie instead. And he hopes that these smiles last. Even if Maddie’s not fully relaxed yet.

“He’s _so_ cute.”

Buck’s stomach does a weird twist. “Yeah, he gets that a lot.” Of course Maddie finds Eddie attractive, who the hell wouldn’t? Blind people, maybe, but even they can hear Eddie’s voice which is something all on its own. “You should meet his kid, though.”

Maddie stares at him with amused confusion. “Chimney has a kid!?”

…he has exposed himself so spectacularly that the flashers at Venice Beach are looking at him with pity. “N-no, I thought you meant…”

Maddie gives him a knowing smile and heads into the kitchen.

Wait—what? “Chimney!?”

He hurries after her. Why would she find—okay Chimney’s surprisingly ripped, he’s a firefighter for Christ’s sake, and yeah he’s not bad to look at, but Eddie’s _right there_. Why would—when you can—

Maddie is laughing at something Chimney said while Eddie hunts for a bottle opener. Buck pauses, watching the two of them. Okay. Maddie seems serious about thinking Chimney’s cute. And that’s good, he’s making her laugh and smile more than just about anything has since she showed up again.

“Ah-ha!” Eddie holds up the bottle opener in triumph, then looks over at Buck, grinning and twirling it between his fingers.

Buck grins back, his heart thumping loudly.

It occurs to him that he’s in really deep trouble where Eddie’s concerned.

* * *

Eddie does not like Taylor Kelly.

Look, it’s nothing personal. She’s probably a great person when she’s relaxed at home. But on the job? She’s a parasite. A merciless killer shark. Actually that’s an insult to sharks, which are endangered and don’t attack people and don’t hunt them, according to Buck, who has been watching a lot of nature documentaries lately.

The guy’s full of more random facts than the Guinness Book of World Records.

Point is, Taylor Kelly is bad fucking news. She looks at them and Eddie can tell that all she sees is a bunch of ratings shaped like people.

And she really needs to get her paws off Buck.

Look, Buck can flirt with whoever he wants to, honestly. He’s a grown man in charge of his own life. If he decides that he and Abby are really broken up (and they are but Buck’s the only one who hasn’t figured it out) and wants to flirt with some cute reporter, great! Have at it! Eddie doesn’t care.

Just not _this_ reporter.

Buck deserves better, and frankly, the guy’s not even flirting. He’s just being nice. Eddie’s pretty damn sure he knows what Buck is like when he’s flirting, seeing as, you know, he’s been on the receiving end of it. Buck’s even _mentioned_ Abby a couple times, right in front of Taylor, but will this woman get the damn hint?

God for-fucking-bid.

He watches as Taylor interviews Buck yet again. The burn of his arms as he lifts the weights does nothing to distract him from the two of them, which is unfortunate because that’s exactly what he’d been hoping to do when he’d started lifting these fucking things.

Buck’s shoulders curl inward and he ducks his head down. Oh for fuck’s sake. Is she calling him a hero? Buck _hates_ being called a hero. Eddie doesn’t know the full story, but Buck mentioned once that he lost someone early on in the job, and that everyone was calling him this hero, trying to interview him, and he hated every second. He hasn’t liked it since, either. For someone who loves attention, Buck hates the spotlight.

And Taylor Kelly would _realize that_ if she took two seconds to read Buck’s actual body language instead of just—

“Hey!” Eddie sets the weights down and gets up.

Buck looks over, relief flooding his face, and Eddie reminds himself that he is still being filmed and is not allowed to say… basically any of the things he wants to say, on camera.

Taylor gives him an irritated look. Taylor Kelly does not like it when people don’t think the sun shines out her ass, apparently. It’s why she’s got it in for Bobby.

“Hey guys!” Hen yells. “We got brownies!”

Buck’s eyes go wide, like a dog that’s caught the scent, and he dashes up the stairs to grab some from Hen.

Eddie gives Taylor a very effective _I’m watching you_ glare and goes to follow. He’s not a huge sweets guy but he could use something right now, a nice distraction from the irritating splinter in his hand that is this fucking reporter.

In fact, hey, why not indulge? He takes a second brownie while he’s still eating the first.

“Don’t hog it!” Buck protests.

Damn, these brownies are good. Moist and fudgey. “Get your own!” he says, yanking his hand out of the way as Buck tries to snatch his brownie. “There’s more in there!”

“But I want _that_ one,” Buck pouts. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Eddie hands the brownie over and gets another one for himself. Buck grins at him.

Eddie can see Taylor and her cameraman have followed and are watching.

He very maturely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

* * *

Buck is flooooooooating and it’s amaaaazing.

He can see _everything_. His body’s not exactly cooperating but that’s okay because he feels like—like—like how fluffy puppy ears feel. Yeah. He just wants to try and melt into the chair he’s sitting on. That sounds like a great idea.

Eddie is not having so great a time. Eddie does _not_ like handcuffs on him. He keeps squirming and yanking at them.

Buck doesn’t mind the handcuffs. Would Eddie mind Buck wearing handcuffs? Eddie doesn’t have to wear them. Just Buck.

Mmmmm and that takes his mind all kinds of nice places. Buck squirms. He doesn’t want his clothes on anymore.

“Oh my God.” Karen’s walked in. Karen’s here! “What the hell…?”

Athena follows. Buck tries to wave, but his hands are handcuffed. Oh yeah. Hey would Eddie mind if…?

“They’re high on LSD,” Athena says. “I just had to talk Bobby off the roof.”

“Karen!” Hen’s noticed her wife. “Baby, baby you look like a rainbow, did you know?”

“I will save the obvious joke for when you’re sober,” Karen says. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“I’ll be taking you two,” Athena says, grabbing Buck with one hand and Eddie with the other. “Get you to Buck’s place.”

It’s Abby’s place. But Abby’s not there. Is it his place?

“Why can’t I go home!?” Eddie sounds outraged.

“Because you’re in no shape to be around your kid,” Athena replies. “I already called Carla, she’s going to pick him up from school and look after him.”

Aww, Carla’s the best.

“Does he know he’s saying all this out loud?” Karen asks.

“No.” Athena sounds exhausted. Poor Athena. She shouldn’t be so exhausted. Is it because of him? Did he exhaust her? He’s sorry.

Athena just rolls her eyes. “Okay, let’s move out.”

The handcuffs come off, which is good for Eddie. Eddie doesn’t like handcuffs. But Buck does. Except they’re kind of uncomfortable? Fuzzy handcuffs. Yes. That would be better.

Buck melts into the backseat next to Eddie while Athena drives because she refuses to let either of them ride shotgun. Buck’s head ends up on Eddie’s shoulder. God he smells so fucking good.

He presses in. “How’s your skin so—soft here and rough up here?” He rubs his mouth against Eddie’s neck and then moves it up to Eddie’s jaw, where Eddie’s got all that stubble.

“Jesus,” Athena mumbles. “Buck, you’re not an actual golden retriever, knock it off.”

“What am I?” Eddie asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“A German Shepherd,” Athena replies dryly. “Oh look. We’re here.”

She practically shoves them into the apartment. “Drink lots of water, play some video games, and take a nap.”

Buck doesn’t want to do any of those things. The door clicks shut behind them and he tugs at his shirt. God the air feels so _good,_ he doesn’t want clothes on, but he can’t seem to remember how to take them off.

Eddie’s looking at him weird. Eddie looks at him weird a lot. “I know that look,” Buck blurts out as he realizes that it’s true.

“What look?” Eddie reaches out and draws his fingertips over Buck’s face. Buck _loves_ that.

“Your face. You made that face when you saw me in the club.”

Eddie’s fingertips feel so good. So good. Eddie touching him feels good. Eddie should always be touching him. Why hasn’t he been letting Eddie do that?

“It wasn’t fair,” Eddie says, stepping closer. Buck ducks his head in and nuzzles Eddie’s neck again. God he smells _so_ fucking good. He _feels_ so good, fuck.

“What wasn’t fair?”

Eddie seems to struggle with this. “Everything?”

That sounds about right. Buck straightens up. He needs to see Eddie’s face. He can see through Eddie’s face right into his thoughts and it’s disorienting but also nice? Yeah it’s nice.

He doesn’t know which one of them moves. Maybe it’s both of them. He feels in sync with Eddie but also disjointed, at one with the universe and isolated from it, all at the same time.

But they do move, and then they’re kissing.

Holy fuck, kissing while high is the best thing ever. Why has he not done this more often? Especially with Eddie. Eddie’s such a good kisser. Fuck, he’s missed the feeling of stubble against his jaw, scraping over his mouth.

There is a bit of a problem with his hands, though.

He can’t seem to remember how they work.

This is not what Athena said for them to do. She said to drink water and play video games and take a nap. He should probably listen to Athena. But kissing Eddie is better.

However.

Taking a nap means a bed.

They should get on a bed. That’s kind of what Athena said, right? They’re kind of following orders.

He tugs at Eddie. Eddie tugs back. Buck whines. He wants to feel Eddie everywhere but he can’t do that while they’re standing.

Eddie pushes him, and Buck feels like the sun breaking through the clouds. Yes, bed, yesssssss.

They stumble through the apartment to the bedroom, landing on the bed, shoes and everything still on. Eddie’s on top of him, heavy and warm, and he feels so good, Buck wants to Eddie to rub up all over him. He wants Eddie on every inch of his skin.

He spreads his legs and Eddie groans, hooking one of his thighs over Buck’s. Fuck, Eddie’s hard, he can feel it even through the layers of clothing, and Buck gasps and arches up, grinding, panting into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie groans. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that.”

Eddie likes that? Good, good, he wants to do what Eddie likes. He wants to be good for Eddie, he’ll be so good, always, and then Eddie won’t leave him like Abby did.

He wants to grab onto Eddie, but his hands are stuck grasping the bedsheets. Eddie’s kissing him messy and frantic and Buck loves it, his lips getting bitten and wet, his skin burning slightly from the scrape of stubble, and he just knows the entire lower half of his face will be pink from it. He feels like a bubble, floating among a field of other bubbles, happy and floaty and iridescent. Everything is so much _more_ right now.

“Gotta—we gotta—” Eddie says. He doesn’t seem capable of really finishing sentences. He growls instead, and oh, Buck remembers those growls.

“Please?” He manages to get his hands onto the back of Eddie’s shoulder blades and thrusts up hard. He remembers what those growls mean, and he wants, he wants—

And Eddie _knows,_ Eddie remembers too, because he bites, right at Buck’s jaw.

Buck moans. He feels like he’s connected to the electricity in the air and it’s all running through him like a current, he _is_ the current, holy fuck yes yes _yes_.

Eddie laps at the spot with his tongue in apology and then just… keeps lapping at Buck’s skin. Like it tastes good. Maybe it does. Buck’s too busy rutting up against Eddie to really experiment for himself. He’s so hot, he’s burning, but he can’t figure out how to get their clothes off. It’s very rude that their clothes won’t disappear just because he wants them to.

Buck squirms, thrusts, arches—he feels like he’s fourteen again, just operating on instinct, but it’s okay. Eddie’s making these noises that Buck can feel moving through him, sinking into his blood like ink, staining him all the way through, tattooing his bones. He can taste Eddie’s groans, smell the color of Eddie’s eyes, hear each shudder that Eddie makes. It’s overwhelming. He feels like he’s floating and completely grounded at the same moment. He loves the contradiction. It’s just like Eddie—someone he feels he knows instinctively and yet someone he feels he doesn’t know at all.

There, there, _there_ , fuck, he wants more, he wants Eddie inside him, or at least no clothes, skin on skin, but it feels too fucking good to stop grinding and he can’t seem to—their buttons keep jumping around, they won’t stay still, he can’t get them open—he feels fuzzy except for where they’re rutting together, that’s not fuzzy, that’s— _ohhhh_ God—

Eddie licks into his mouth again, sloppy, and gives a hard thrust against Buck and Buck becomes a star, light and heat, sparks all over. So good, so good, _so_ good, he feels like he’s melting. Buck has no idea what kind of sounds are escaping him, but they sure seem to spur Eddie on. He grinds up harder, reveling in the hot drag of Eddie’s cock over his, the fabric becoming wet and clinging, heightening everything.

He bites Eddie’s lip, digs in his nails, whines as the entire universe narrows down into just the two of them. There are whole worlds inside of them, heat and fire, building with each thrust, each sweet drag of their clothed cocks against each other.

Eddie loses all finesse and drops his face down, pressing it against Buck’s shoulder, and Buck’s head falls back—he gasps up against the ceiling—is the ceiling swirling? Is the ceiling made of bubbles? Eddie’s hands brace on the bed and his next thrust is even harder, determined, and Buck starts to explode inside, dragging their cocks together again and again and—

He looks down, manages to prop himself up just enough, and he might? Swear? Words? Words are hard, but he _thinks_ up a lot of great swears as he sees the outline of their cocks against the fabric, the already dark blue stained even darker, a huge wet patch on both of their pants now as Eddie mercilessly, relentlessly grinds on top of him, ruining both of their uniforms completely.

Hey, it’s like the lap dance! Only reversed!

Buck starts laughing, and Eddie huffs against his shoulder, as if asking what’s so funny. And it’s funny but it’s not, it’s just—it is what it is, and it’s good, he feels amazing, Eddie’s cock is amazing, he wants—Jesus tap-dancing Christ, he wants—

 _Fuck_ , it— _yes_. That’s the angle, the perfect—fuuuuuuck. He wants more, harder, fuck, he can’t—holy mother fuck yes please—faster, yes, everything—just that sharp liquid _perfect_ point of pleasure—just—like—

He melts entirely as he comes, everything in him going liquid, and he feels it through his entire body as Eddie moans and chases after him, rutting frantically and coming a minute, an hour, later.

They pant together. Eddie’s so warm and heavy on top of him. It’s good. It’ll stop Buck from floating away. Like Abby floated away.

He still feels like a bubble, but now in a not so good way. Fragile. Like he’s going to pop. And now he’s starting to remember why he didn’t like it the few times he did drugs in college—the come down from the high was fucking awful.

Eddie’s here though. Eddie’s warm and safe. Eddie makes him feel good.

In that post-orgasm state, in between being high and being sober, his thoughts seem to crystalize and hang in the air. But they’re all disorganized, out of order. He can’t get them to work. They’re all too separate. Something about Abby, and Eddie.

Eddie presses his face to Buck’s neck, like he’s trying to get even closer, imprint himself. Buck wouldn’t mind that at all. He’ll leave the crystal thoughts for later. Right now he still feels good. He’s floating on a golden cloud river, on the underside, upside but it’s all okay, Eddie’s here. Eddie’s grounding him.

He realizes he’s falling asleep. They’re napping. Athena would be proud.

He falls asleep holding onto Eddie.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys can thank extasiswings for the ‘casual frottage’ line.

Buck wakes up with cotton mouth and a headache and oh, fuck, this is why he doesn’t do drugs. He feels like something died right behind his face and he’s sharing his skull with roadkill.

He’s also got dried jizz in his pants, so his underwear and uniform are sticking to him, his fuckin’ shoes are still on, he’s got a crick in his neck and sweat and he’s fully clothed and—yeah. He needs a shower, ASAP.

Next to him, Eddie groans.

Buck freezes.

He doesn’t completely remember yesterday. Shit gets fuzzy sometime around getting into the fire truck to respond to a call. But he does remember enough.

And even if he didn’t, the position he’s in with Eddie is a fairly large clue.

He sits up, even as his headache spikes a little. Fuck.

Eddie rubs at his forehead, staring up at the ceiling like he’s just taking a roundhouse to the temple. “That was—”

Buck braces himself to hear _a mistake._ But instead Eddie finishes, “—a fucking trip, I am never taking LSD again.”

“You ever done drugs before?”

“I was boring in high school.” Eddie grins at Buck and Buck’s stomach flips.

“Um. I’m gonna… you should—feel free to use the shower.”

Eddie looks down at himself and groans again, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “You sure?”

“Yeah of course. Extra towels in the cabinet under the sink, use whatever you need. Should be an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.” He got it for Abby when she gets back in case she needs it but—

The crystal thoughts that hovered over his head last night seem to come crashing down on top of him. Abby. Abby… Abby’s not coming back.

He holds the truth of that statement up in his mind’s eye like he’s trying to get it to catch the light.

Abby’s not coming back.

He swings his legs over and stands up, starts getting undressed so he can take a shower after Eddie.

Abby hasn’t talked to him in weeks, she hasn’t mentioned any plans for coming back, in fact she’s always off somewhere new—

Everyone makes pointed comments about his ‘invisible girlfriend’, everyone gives him these looks of pity (except Eddie, and Bobby, whose looks are too painfully understanding)

Maddie’s even suggested he move onto Eddie instead—

The bathroom door opens and Eddie emerges, wearing just a towel. It reminds Buck of their second night together, when Eddie came over and teased Buck for showing up wearing only a towel, only now it’s reversed.

God, the man’s gorgeous. Smooth tan skin, fuckin’ cut muscles, patches of water still clinging to him that Buck just wants to set his tongue on, and a happy trail he wants to follow down all the way to…

He swallows. “I can throw your clothes in the wash.”

Eddie gives him an odd look. “I’ll take care of it, throw your clothes in too. You look like you could use the shower.”

He really could. “Thanks.”

He gets up to head into the bathroom, but Eddie stops him with a hand on the center of his chest. Eddie’s hand feels like the warmest thing Buck’s ever touched. It slides up to Buck’s shoulder, clasping firmly, and he searches Buck’s gaze with his own until Buck’s forced to lock and hold it.

“You okay?”

Buck nods. “Hey, what’s some casual frottage between former flings and new coworkers? Right?”

Eddie snorts and drops his hand. “Okay.”

Buck plunges himself into the hot water and pretends he never has to leave.

Abby’s not coming back.

Fuck. He feels—he feels rage, honestly. The rage of a hurt animal. She left and he said he’d wait and she knows that, she can’t tell him she’s done? That they’re over?

Does it even matter, at this point, if she does call him? What if she does show up out of the blue? Say Abby walked in right now. Would he want her? Would he feel the way he did when he walked in and heard Maddie, thinking it was Abby?

…why would he, when Eddie’s right outside?

He scrubs at his face, grabs the soap, economically washes himself down. Eddie’s right outside. Eddie who isn’t married, who has a kid that Buck would fuckin’ swim through lava for, Eddie who’s become Buck’s best friend.

Before—Eddie just dropped into his lap like a fucking miracle, and he was taken away just as easily, just as quickly. Now it’s different. It’s more complicated. But it could be more rewarding.

He turns off the shower and steps out, looking at himself in the mirror. _What do you want?_

It scares him. It fucking terrifies him, the way he was once terrified by how much he wanted Abby. Realizing how deep he was, realizing all he was risking and all he could lose. Especially with how Abby turned out. She left. She’s gone.

Eddie left once. And Buck doesn’t really want to think about the person he became afterwards—not that it’s Eddie’s fault, but—but it was different, then. Eddie was never going to stay. He didn’t even know Eddie’s damn name.

Can he take another chance? Can he—after—and he doesn’t even know if that’s what Eddie would want, Eddie with a woman he never married who abandoned him, a child he’s got to look after, would he even want anything romantic?

He doesn’t know.

Buck looks at himself in the mirror again. _What do you want?_

He wants Eddie.

But he’s not sure he can have him.

* * *

Eddie throws his stuff and Buck’s into the washer-dryer, and feels like they’re in Mexico all over again.

Except in Mexico, he was the one hurting. He was the one with a partner who’d run off, the one feeling lost. Sometimes he still feels lost, but at least now he knows what he wants. He wants this job with the 118, he wants Christopher in a good school, and he wants…

He wants Buck.

And he’s got no fucking clue what Buck wants. Or if Buck’s even aware of what it is.

Fuck, should he borrow some of Buck’s clothes so he’s not just sitting around in a towel, or…?

The bathroom door opens and Buck emerges, towel wrapped securely around him, running a hand through his hair and looking like he’s been run over by a car. And then a train. And then another train.

“You okay?” Eddie asks again. Because Buck is clearly stuck over something, and Eddie’s pretty damn sure he knows what it is.

Buck drops his hand and goes to sit on the edge of bed, but immediately flops back onto it, his hands pressed to his face. Eddie leans back onto his elbow, resting on his side, and watches him. Waiting.

He waits for a long time. Buck’s face, his chest, are pink and it’s not from the heat of the shower. When he at last pulls his hands back, his eyes are puffy and rimmed in red.

“She dumped me,” he whispers. “Didn’t she?”

Eddie swallows. The wildly selfish part of him, the part that looks at Buck and thinks _mine,_ wants to immediately ask what the fuck Buck thinks was happening all these weeks. That part wants to plead his case, to tell Buck that he’s better for him, that he’ll never abandon Buck like that. He knows what it’s like to be abandoned and left hanging and he won’t do that to someone else.

But that’s the part of him that’s thinking only about what he wants. And this is about what Buck wants.

He nods.

Buck groans and drops his hands. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No. No, Buck, hey.” He takes two fingers to Buck’s chin and gently tilts Buck’s face towards him. “You’re fucking _loyal_. You thought I might be married and you were furious with me. You waited for her, for months. Way longer than anyone else would’ve. Don’t beat yourself up about that.”

Buck swallows, and Eddie can feel it underneath his fingers. He pulls them away. Buck’s eyes are very blue and very soft, and his face is open and raw. It’s dangerous. Dangerous to touch, to even look, but Eddie can’t yank his gaze away.

“Everyone knew.”

“Doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks.” If he caved to what Mom and Dad and a lot of his other family members thought, his life would look a lot different right now, and a lot worse (in his opinion). “It matters what you think and how you feel. You stuck it out.”

“I’d’ve thought…” Buck’s mumbling now. “Would’ve thought you’d… I don’t know.”

Eddie isn’t quite sure where that sentence was headed, so he doesn’t respond. Buck closes his eyes. His eyelashes are damp.

“Did she ask you to wait for her?” He has to ask. Not because he needs to know, but because Buck needs to sort it out.

Of course, he’d be lying if he said he isn’t curious. He is. He wants to know what Abby was to Buck, what she did to inspire such bone-deep loyalty, or if that’s just who Buck is. How he’d be with anyone. But this is probably, definitely, not the time.

Buck slowly shakes his head. God, he looks so much like a kicked puppy that Eddie can’t _not_ run his fingers through Buck’s hair.

A sigh that sounds close to content escapes Buck and he turns his head, pushes up into Eddie’s touch.

“I just wish she’d told me. I wish she’d said something.” Buck’s voice is both rough and soft at the same time. “I told her I’d wait for her. She should’ve…”

He swallows and falls silent.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie keeps running his fingers through Buck’s hair, sinking down onto the bed next to him. “I shouldn’t have… we were high as fuck but I still… that’s not an excuse. You felt you were in a relationship.”

Buck shakes his head. “I wanted it. I kissed you first. Or at least. I think I did. I don’t know. But I… I don’t know what I was thinking because I was—fucking soaring—but I wanted you and it was my choice.”

He braces himself up onto his elbow and moves his hand down from Buck’s hair to Buck’s cheek, stroking his thumb slowly across Buck’s bottom lip. Buck’s tongue flicks out, laps at the pad of his thumb, and Eddie forgets to breathe for a second.

He wants to say that she doesn’t deserve Buck. That Buck shouldn’t feel any guilt because if she was stupid enough to let Buck go, she wasn’t good enough for him to stay. But he doesn’t know Abby. He doesn’t even know their story, how they met, what their relationship was like. It’s not his place to let his envy, his jealousy, his bitterness show like that.

Buck stares up at him with a sort of awestruck look on his face. Eddie moves his thumb off Buck’s lip and strokes his cheek instead, back and forth, silently rejoices in all that soft warm skin under his fingers.

He wants to kiss him more than he wants his next breath. He wants to wrap himself around Buck completely and—he doesn’t even know. He just knows he wants to protect and hold. But he never gets what he wants, and he fucks it up when he does, and this isn’t about him. This is about Buck, Buck who’s just now realized that the woman he loves is gone and never coming back.

“What do you want now?” he whispers. He’s fucking terrified to ask. Terrified of what the answer will be.

Buck swipes his tongue over his lip, staring up at Eddie with those warm blue eyes. He looks lost and found all at the same time. “What do _you_ want?”

Oh God. “I…” His throat is dry. The things he wants to say are so big, so fragile, they choke him and he can’t even begin to name them.

“I want to fuck you.”

That’s easy to say. It’s all he’s wanted since he saw Buck again.

Buck’s eyes get dark, almost as if he’s sad, but then a tiny smile emerges, turning up the corners of his mouth. Eddie’s scared to even breathe. He keeps his hand on Buck’s cheek, thumb stroking back and forth, torn between going closer and pulling away.

“Then fuck me.” Buck’s voice is soft as a cloud. And if Eddie’s thinking shit like that, maybe he’s still a little high. “Please.”

A groan vibrates all the way up from his toes and shoots out of him, and he doesn’t waste a second more. He leans down and kisses Buck.

Buck claws at him in what seems to be relief, wrapping his arm under Eddie’s and then up around to grip at Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie sinks down onto him, all tension gone, and it feels like coming home.

 _Why the fuck did I ever give this up?_ He knows why, of course. He was far from being in a good place when he met Buck. What they had was great for the half a week together, great as a respite from his real life, but he couldn’t have brought Buck into his world, not properly. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have his head on straight anywhere.

Now, though, now he thinks he’s starting to. He can actually hold onto Buck this time. He can hold on tight.

Buck slides his hands over Eddie’s back, not even whimpering, too busy swallowing Eddie’s tongue and gasping for air. Fuck, Buck’s skin is all smooth and pale again, no marks, and Eddie wants to change that. He wants to remind Buck of just how good Eddie can make him feel.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot you were a fucking biter,” Buck groans out as Eddie breaks away from the kiss to start on Buck’s neck. “Fuckin’ vampire.”

Eddie pulls away and cups his hand to his ear. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you hear that?”

“…what?” Buck looks suspicious.

“It’s the silence from you not complaining last time.”

Buck laughs, rolling his eyes, and Eddie kisses that smile right off of his face. Buck should always be smiling.

“You know,” Eddie notes, lapping at the spot he bit, “there is something I didn’t do last time…”

He wants Buck out of his fucking mind with pleasure. He wants Buck to forget about Abby, about all his concerns, he wants Buck to just feel _good_. And the way he knows how to do that is to get Buck _begging_.

“We did a _lot_ last time,” Buck points out with a huff of laughter, running his hands through Eddie’s hair. He really does seem to like the hair. “Why, you got a dildo hidden on you?”

“No, although I do seem to remember somebody talking a lot about handcuffs yesterday…”

Buck groans and slaps his hand over his eyes. “Did I say all of that out loud?”

“I mean, I don’t know all of what was going on in your head man but yeah, you said a lot out loud. I think Athena went home and drank an entire bottle of wine.”

Buck groans again and Eddie takes the opportunity to tug off their towels, admiring the gorgeous body underneath him. Fuck yes. Buck’s broader now than he was before firefighter training, just miles of thick muscle that Eddie’s ready to sink his teeth into.

He intends to take his time.

He starts with Buck’s chest, because if he remembers correctly, Buck’s got real sensitive nipples, and he does in fact remember correctly, hell yes. He’s careful not to leave any bruises, as much as everything inside of him screams to do exactly that. Buck is still with Abby, as far as anyone in the 118 knows, and he wants Buck to be honest about his new status because he chose to tell them, not because someone saw him in the locker room without a shirt on.

Although…

The inner thigh’s pretty covered, right? They rarely strip down past their underwear, and even if Buck did, it’s hard to see something on someone’s inner thigh, all that shadow play and shit.

And he never did get to do that last time.

He bites down hard, right near the base of Buck’s cock, and Buck moans, shaking. Hell. Yes. He’s still so damn responsive. His cock keeps bumping against Eddie’s cheek, smearing it with precome, and Eddie has to remind himself to be patient and not just swallow Buck down as deep as he can. For one thing, that would probably make him gag. Not exactly conducive to sexiness.

“Jeeeesus _Christ_ ,” Buck swears with feeling as Eddie sucks at the spot he bit, working against the sensitive skin until it darkens into a gorgeous purple-blue color.

Ha.

“You still—” Buck pants. “You still haven’t said—what we haven’t done before—”

Eddie switches to the other thigh and makes a second mark, reveling in the salty, clean taste of Buck’s shower-fresh skin. It hits him that he borrowed Buck’s shampoo and soap, so they smell the same, a combination of coconut and sandalwood.

The idea of that appeals to him, for some reason.

“You got a condom?”

Buck scrambles for the bedside drawer and hits Eddie in the eye with one, making Eddie nearly bust a gut laughing as he rips it open and rolls it onto Buck’s cock. Mmm. Maybe he should get himself tested. See if they can do this without anything between them. It’s an appealing idea.

And thankfully, since they are both so squeaky clean from the shower, it’s no big deal to nose underneath Buck’s cock and explore more, in a way he didn’t get to do last time, at least not with his mouth. He’s going off of what he remembers from his fingers, and from what it felt like when Buck did this to him, but it’s worth it for the shaky exhale of realization that Buck gives out.

Just like when he first did this with his fingers, Eddie just explores, testing, seeing how it all feels, what spots make Buck jump, which ones make him melt. Eddie hooks Buck’s leg over his shoulder and actually focuses in, wondering—last time when Buck did this to him, Eddie nearly—could he get Buck to—?

He twists his tongue inside Buck and Buck digs his heel into Eddie’s back, groaning. “Fuuucking hell…” He tugs at Eddie’s hair, hard.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” Eddie warns, although that’s not much of a deterrent given Buck’s rambling about handcuffs yesterday.

Sure enough, Buck shivers and lets out a delicious little whimper. Eddie’s cock jumps in response, and he’s tempted to climb up and just fuck him until both of them are senseless, but he wants to do this right. He wants to take care of Buck. This whole time, Buck’s felt uncared for, unloved, abandoned, and he wants Buck to feel—words that Eddie won’t let himself say, even in his own head.

He licks and twists his tongue, figuring out how to take what he knows from eating out a woman and from making out and transferring it into this, until Buck’s letting out those _ah ah ah_ noises that Eddie fucking lives for. Buck’s draped over him, boneless, nails frozen into claws as they dig into the sheets, and he gives a long, low whine of loss as Eddie pulls away and up to at last suck on the tip of his cock.

 _Yeah, that’s it._ Buck’s face, slack with pleasure, twists and seizes up as Eddie sucks on his cock, and he starts writhing, trying to shove himself up into Eddie’s mouth.

Hmm, maybe there is something to the idea of cuffs…

Eddie wraps a hand around Buck’s outer thigh on the leg that’s over his shoulder, holding him steady, and then presses his other hand down on Buck’s right thigh, pressing him down into the mattress and pinning him in place. It takes him a few minutes, but he slowly, patiently works himself down farther and farther onto Buck’s cock.

Ack, yeah, still not about to deep throat anytime soon. But he likes the stretch of it, and likes the fact that it’s clearly driving Buck insane. It’s been months since either of them’s had proper sex—the last time Eddie had sex was, in fact, with Buck—and that has to be making Buck extra sensitive. Eddie doesn’t remember him having such a hair-trigger last time, his whines getting a desperate edge quickly.

Eddie pulls off and squeezes the base of Buck’s cock with his hand, before going back to using it to brace on Buck’s thigh. He sucks at the base of Buck’s cock, at his balls, before licking a long stripe up the underside, and Buck would probably be thrashing if Eddie wasn’t using all of his considerable muscle power to keep the guy in place.

“God, Eddie, _please_.” Buck’s damn near whimpering.

Eddie flashes him a quick, devilish grin and goes back to eating Buck out instead. Buck’s moan seems to stretch on for an eternity. Eddie fuckin’ loves it. Buck’s still loud, still shameless, and Eddie never wants him to change.

Buck’s not even making gasps now, he’s just making these high-pitched noises in the back of his throat that barely count as anything, and Eddie finally moves up again and sucks him in. Buck arches up and then collapses back onto the bed, eyes wide and staring, jaw dropped open, flushed all the way down his chest. It’s a real pretty picture and Eddie has to pause for a moment to take it in.

It’s time to finish this now. He’s teased Buck for long enough. He bobs up and down, swallows around Buck’s cock, tongues the slit, and Buck loses it.

Jesus fucking Christ that’s so hot. It’s not that Eddie forgot how sexy Buck is, it’s just—remembering and actually seeing are two different things.

He moves up, watching Buck as he orgasms, and grabs his own cock. Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he wants to fuck him so badly but he also knows he’s not going to last long enough to prep Buck for that, and there’s still that savage part of him that’s growling at Abby, wherever she is, that part of him that’s still chanting _mine_ …

He jerks himself off, quick and efficient, and comes all over Buck’s chest.

Buck makes a sound like he’s been gut punched and twitches like he’s just had an aftershock of orgasm. Hell, maybe he has. Maybe feeling Eddie do that did something to him.

Eddie stares down at him—at the marks on his thighs, the mess on his chest, the flush all over his body—and wants to do it all over again.

“That,” Buck wheezes, “was really fucking hot. What the fuck.”

“Oh good. I hate to tell you this, but making it hot for you was kind of the intention.”

Buck laughs, sounding surprised by it, and Eddie grins as he grabs his towel and uses it to clean Buck up.

 _Can we do that again?_ he wants to ask.

But he doesn’t want to push.

“Will you do something about Abby?” he asks instead.

Buck watches him with hooded eyes as he finishes cleaning up. “I should… say something. Yeah.”

Eddie lies back down on his side next to him. “I’ll be here. If you need.” _If you want. Please want. Please want me._

Buck smiles at him, sated and not… not happy. But close to it. “Thanks. I mean it. Thank you.”

 _Always,_ is what he wants to say, but there’s far too much implication in that word. Buck’s just now realizing he’s got to move on from his ex, Eddie’s not gonna push. He’s going to give Buck that space to figure out what he wants, just like Eddie needed.

He kisses Buck instead.

It’s almost saying the same thing.

* * *

So… Eddie wants to fuck him.

Great. Okay. Buck can work with this.

He’s not sure what he and Eddie are, now. Eddie didn’t mention wanting to sleep with him again, so maybe that was just… getting it out of his system? But he didn’t say it was one and done either and Buck’s been aware for weeks now of the way Eddie looks at him, the way Eddie touches him—with just enough invitation to show that the door’s unlocked if Buck wants to open it.

Maybe Eddie wants what they had in Mexico. Two people who had regular sex and were becoming friends. Or, maybe that was Eddie’s version of it. The guy didn’t even wake Buck up to say goodbye, Buck’s not under any illusions here.

Even if he was stupid enough to trip into wanting more.

So Eddie doesn’t want more now, either, and Buck gets it. He does, really. For one thing, Christopher. Eddie’s not going to compromise his son, not in any way. Dating someone new has to be hard for Christopher to see, and Eddie won’t want to subject his son to that unless he’s a thousand percent certain that the person he’s dating is the right one. Because _fuck,_ Eddie loves that kid. Buck can’t blame him. And Eddie—hell, Buck gets envious of Christopher because he wishes his dad had been with him the way Eddie is with his son. Patient, caring, encouraging, soft. And Eddie’s talked to him a bit about it. Talked about having to unlearn a lot. About having to read up, and talk to people, and retrain his way of thinking. He’s built a strong bond with Christopher and he’s not going to wreck all that hard work by risking a relationship with the wrong guy.

That just leaves Buck wondering… is this going to become a regular thing? He’s not going to get the proper romantic partner treatment, he gets that. Eddie doesn’t want that.

_What do you want?_

_I want to fuck you._

Can’t get more obvious than that.

But is the sex going to happen again? He really wants it to happen again. That was unbelievably hot, Eddie just going down on him forever, driving Buck insane, almost like Eddie was taking care of him in the filthiest way possible—and then, fuck, coming all over his chest. Buck felt—claimed, sort of, and he fuckin’ swears he got another pulse of arousal just from that.

He should go get tested. He still has his test results from Abby, but… if they do get around to doing this again…

Fuck, and now he’s back to his original question.

He can be honest with himself, most of the time, and to be honest he’s scared. Scared of bringing it up and having Eddie give him a look of confusion because no it was just a one-time thing, Buck, why the hell would he think Eddie wanted more? And he knows Eddie would be kind about it. Eddie’s a little blunt with his words sometimes but he’s one of the kindest, most even-tempered people Buck knows. He would take Buck’s expectations and set them very gently and thoughtfully on the ground. But he’d still set them down, and Buck just got out of one relationship, he’s not looking to get burned twice, thanks.

He’ll just wait and see what Eddie says, he supposes.

Speaking of that one relationship…

That night, he sits down and writes a letter. A proper one. He buys a card and everything. Yeah, Abby might’ve as good as ghosted him but this isn’t about her, it’s about him. He’s fucked up a lot in his life. He wants to be able to look back on this and be proud of how he handled it, whether or not Abby deserves such a response. And he did love her. Even if he’s not sure about all that now.

He chooses his words carefully. Types it all up on the computer first, edits, revises, until he’s satisfied. He even emails it to Bobby to get his thoughts. Only then does he write it all out onto the page.

Then he posts it and sends it.

It’s done. Whether she gets it tomorrow (highly unlikely) or in a month, she knows. He’s not waiting for her anymore.

He feels… empty. Wrung out. Like he scraped at his insides with a spoon. But he also feels free. He’s cut ties. It’s over at last, this dead weight he was carrying behind him without even realizing it.

And then it hits him—

Fuck. He’s got to find a new apartment.

* * *

This school is perfect.

Eddie spends the entire time trying not to sweat through his suit. He feels like maybe he’s not good enough to be in here, like they’re going to find a chink in the armor, one of his flaws, and decide that he’s not what they want. And honestly he doesn’t care what they think, but what they think is what decides if Christopher can get in, and God, he wants this so badly for Christopher.

It’s got everything his kid could need, everything his child _deserves,_ and he’s going to do whatever it takes to get him in here. He doesn’t have much in the way of traditional bribery but he has Bobby’s cooking, he could probably convince the captain to whip up something. Or volunteering. He’ll volunteer for every school outing there is. And fire safety, he’ll take care of all of that, whatever, whenever, he just has to get Christopher into a place that’ll look out for him, that’ll take care of him.

Christopher’s smart and sweet and strong. He needs a place that will nurture that. Not let him get lost in a crowd.

Carla keeps touching his elbow, like she knows he’s about ready to keel over from nerves. He almost (almost) would rather be on tour again. At least in the desert it was just his own damn life on the line.

But the staff he speaks to seem to like him. Carla drilled him on what questions to ask, on what answers to give to the questions they’ll ask him, and he tries to remember to smile and not look like he’s two seconds away from throwing up.

He promised himself that he would be a good parent. That he would make up for his mistakes. That he wasn’t going to fail, that he would exceed expectations, be better than his parents had said he was. He promised himself he would be what Christopher needed.

He can’t fail at this.

They finish up the tour, and everything’s going fine. They like him, he likes the place, and everyone seems excited with getting Christopher in. “We’ve got all your paperwork,” the woman giving him the tour assures him. “We’ll just need one last thing, to meet Mrs. Diaz.”

The woman’s smiling at him and Eddie has to fight the urge not to groan and slap his face into his hand.

Of course. He and Shannon never married but they’re Christopher’s parents. They have shared, equal custody, always have. Shannon never sent any paperwork, so in the eyes of the law, she’s still got a say in everything Christopher does.

Fuck.

“There, uh, isn’t one.” He tries not to look at Carla, because if he does, he’ll panic. “We never married.”

“That’s no problem, we certainly don’t judge.” The tour guide has clearly misread the source of Eddie’s concern. “But we’ll still need to speak with her. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Not at all,” Eddie lies, smiling.

…it’s a fucking problem.


	11. Chapter 11

Eddie sees her, and feels like all of the air’s been let out of him, like he’s a punctured tire.

Shannon gives him a tentative smile as she walks over. “Hey.”

“The school called to tell me about your appointment so I thought I’d… stop over.” It was supposed to just be a phone call, but she insisted on coming here in person.

He walks with her to her car. She looks nice, he supposes. He’s not sure what he expected when he saw her again, but she looks almost the same as she did right before she left. Almost like time hasn’t passed. He doesn’t know what to do about that. He dressed up, for some reason. He’s not sure why.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t tank the interview, okay?” Shannon screws up her face. “At least I don’t think I did.”

“I’m sure you did great.” He needs to keep this friendly and cordial. They’ve got equal share of Christopher, so what happens between them can affect him, legally. “I really appreciate it. Christopher will too.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Shannon stops walking. “To pass along thank yous from my own son?”

He has to take a deep breath. “You left. I understood. I… tried to. You were taking care of your mother. I was trying to take care of Christopher, and we just… I always thought you’d come home. That maybe we’d have a chance to make things right. But you never did. And I don’t even know why.”

“I didn’t know how.” Shannon does look upset, to her credit. “The longer I was gone, the harder it was to come back. To face you, to face Christopher.”

Eddie does know something about that. It was easier, in some ways, to be overseas, than it was to be at home. To put in the work, to convince a child who didn’t really know him that he was worth that child’s love and affection.

Shannon starts to break down. “He must hate me.”

“What are you talking about? Why would Christopher hate you?” He’ll forgive Shannon in two seconds for leaving.

“Because I did this to him!”

Eddie’s heart drops.

“I have relived every moment of that pregnancy so many times. Just trying to figure out how it happened, and what I did wrong. And I thought I could make up for it so I did all this research, finding all this research and different treatments but it was all just so overwhelming and I just—needed a break.”

Eddie can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. It’s not—she’s not apologizing for leaving the way she did? With just a note and no warning? She never said she needed a break she said she needed to help her mom, and she needed Eddie to pull his weight and—and how is Christopher—Christopher’s life is his, his condition is _his,_ not his mother’s.

Thank God Christopher’s not here to listen to this. It would make him feel broken, and that’s the opposite of all Eddie’s tried to do for him. His son is not broken. Shannon didn’t break him.

“So then the mother who hurt her kid left him.” Shannon sounds pretty broken herself—and as much as Eddie wants to argue this point, he’s known Shannon since high school. He knows when it’s not the time to push.

He hugs her instead. She’s hurting, she’s upset, and he can’t help but want to comfort a little, to make it better. They can’t have an honest conversation about this until she cries it out, gets out all that she’s feeling. Then—maybe they can get a coffee and discuss this further.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Things happen, and it wasn’t your fault.” If she needs to be absolved, he’ll give her absolution. It’s a small thing to give, in the scheme of things. Christopher’s what matters.

Eddie pulls back and takes her hands, squeezes them. Shannon’s strong, she just needs a breather.

“I know that.” Shannon shrugs a little. “I just don’t feel it.”

“Christopher loves you,” Eddie promises her. “And he misses you.”

Shannon nods, her gaze searching his, as if she’s trying to see if he’s telling the truth.

Then she kisses him.

For a second, Eddie kisses her back a little out of pure instinct. He kissed nobody but Shannon since he was seventeen, until Buck came along, that’s about seven years and old habits die hard.

But then he steps back, realizes what the fuck is happening and what he’s doing.

Shannon looks startled, like she expected him to press into her, rather than going the opposite way.

“I…” He shakes his head. Panic is clawing at his chest. “Shannon, no.”

“I’m sorry, I thought we were having a moment.” Shannon wipes at her eyes. “Um. Right. That’s…”

“Awkward.”

“Yeah. You said… you said Christopher misses me? Can I—I know we never talked about custody arrangements but…”

It’s a subtle jab, but it’s there. Or maybe it’s not a jab, maybe Shannon’s just trying to be helpful, but just like with her insistence on coming to the school in person, he doesn’t know. He can’t tell. She just kissed him. Does she think—does she want—

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Shannon wants.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells her. “It’s been a while. I need to think about what’s best for him.”

Shannon looks a little like she’s been doused in cold water. “…okay. Um. You have my number.”

“Right.”

She gets into her car, and he watches her drive off, feeling the same way he did three years ago. Off-kilter, floating, scared.

Not having a damn answer in the world.

* * *

Buck gets a stomach-jerking feeling of déjà vu when he opens the door to Eddie. He hasn’t moved out of Abby’s just yet—he’s still looking, or putting it off if you ask Maddie, but he’s just picky that’s all—and Eddie walks into the foyer with that same stiff-shoulder attitude he had the night of the wedding.

The night he took Buck’s face in his hands before kissing him. The night they had sex with the TV on, Eddie moving slow and deep inside of him like they were underwater, like this wasn’t really real. The taste of goodbye on the back of his tongue like dark chocolate, bitter and sweet.

“Hey.” He closes the door and reaches out, stops himself just in time. He doesn’t know if Eddie will want to be touched. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie runs his hand through his hair, blows out a breath. “I just, I…”

He shakes his head, then turns and takes Buck’s face in his hands, same as that night three years ago.

And he kisses him.

Buck knows he should ask what’s going on, but he’s too busy melting into it, his hands grabbing onto fistfuls of Eddie’s jacket as Eddie carefully walks him back into the nearest wall. His hands on Buck’s face are firm but gentle, so fucking gentle, and he’s kissing him deep but soft. Like he’s trying to say something.

God, it’s stupid, but Buck kisses him back. It’s not what he should do, but same as before, he can’t help himself. He wants, he yearns, so he lets himself be led. He takes what he’s given. He doesn’t try to ask for more.

When he did, he was abandoned.

Eddie pulls back and gently, tentatively presses their foreheads together, resting as they breathe. Buck keeps his eyes closed, savoring the unique intimacy of the touch.

He moves his hands up to Eddie’s shoulders, then down a little, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s arms, squeezing lightly. For a moment, they just breathe together.

Buck wants to ask, because he’s curious and clearly something’s happened, but he doesn’t want to force Eddie to talk about anything he isn’t ready for. He brushes his nose against Eddie’s instead and squeezes Eddie’s arms again.

Some of the tension seems to go out of Eddie. He kisses Buck again, and Buck—he can’t help but start to hope. Maybe he’s being yanked around, the person Eddie goes to when he needs some reassurance, an escape, but Eddie’s not the yanking around kind. He knows that Buck was just ghosted, he wouldn’t do that to him, wouldn’t he?

He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, keeps him close as Eddie’s hands fall to Buck’s waist, tugs him until they’re pressed up against each other, grinding a little. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me.” Eddie needs this, Buck’ll give it to him. He can take Eddie out of his head, or give Eddie control, whatever Eddie’s asking for.

“I need—I just—” Eddie’s kisses start to turn a little more frantic, over and over, drawing Buck’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Buck’s knees fucking melt.

He uses his grip on Eddie’s arms to leverage them together and grind against him again, groaning around Eddie’s tongue. Fuck, he can feel Eddie growing hard against him as he moves, and he whimpers a little.

Eddie strokes up and down Buck’s sides, like he’s counting Buck’s ribs, then moves his hands down to Buck’s ass, guiding him as they grind together. There’s that edge of desperation, but Buck’s surprised by how… soft Eddie’s being. Like he’s holding something fragile and he’s trying not to drop it.

“I’ve got you,” Buck promises. “Whatever—you need—I’m—”

“You,” Eddie repeats. “Just you.”

He keeps kissing Buck and Buck just holds on for the ride, letting Eddie do whatever he needs, whatever he wants, grinding slowly, dragging their bodies together again and again, kissing like it’s all they’re going to do for the rest of time.

Buck’s not sure he’d mind that.

“God, when did you get so fucking ripped,” Eddie mumbles, finally breaking away from Buck’s mouth to kiss slowly along Buck’s neck. “Your goddamn arms…”

“You’re a firefighter, you know how it goes.” He was built when he was a stripper, no doubt, but he’s a tank now, he’s lifting shit constantly, he’s at the gym, he’s not just doing ab work in his apartment so he can flex a six pack for clients. He’s pure bulk, because he needs to be, they all need to be.

Eddie chuckles, nuzzles at Buck’s throat, cants his hips in and thrusts _up_ at just the right angle to make Buck feel like he’s just been lit on fire. Fuuuuuuck.

He works a hand into the hair at the back of Eddie’s head as the other clutches the back of Eddie’s shoulder, melting against him. God, yes, _yes,_ he doesn’t want to be anywhere other than here, he wants to be with Eddie, being _good_ for Eddie, let Eddie use him, let Eddie take care of him because Eddie’s so, so good at that, he’s always taken care of Buck—

Eddie pulls back, breathing hard. “Is this okay? I’m not—”

“No, no, you’re good, it’s not too much.” He catches Eddie’s face in his hand and kisses him once, twice, three times. Eddie’s not too much, he’s never too much. He’s Buck’s best friend.

Eddie groans like he’s relieved and dives in again, only this time his left hand slides around to the front of Buck’s jeans to hook two fingers into his belt loop, using the front and back grips to turn Buck and guide him backwards.

It occurs to him that he’s going to have to thoroughly clean this place for Abby before he moves out.

They bump into the kitchen table and kind of get stuck there, not that Buck’s complaining. He yanks Eddie’s shirt out of his pants. “Why’re you dressed all fancy?”

“Maybe I dressed up for you,” Eddie points out, shucking off his jacket and tie and letting them fall to the floor. “Ever considered that?”

“Wow, I wasn’t aware we were getting married.”

“Fuck you, that’s a tux, this isn’t a tux, you _know_ it’s not a tux—”

Before Eddie can really get worked up into a tirade about fashion and sartorial choices, Buck kisses him again.

Eddie goes fumbling through his pants, which makes his hand brush deliciously up against Buck’s clothed cock and Buck whimpers, clutching at him tighter, until Eddie pulls his hand away and Buck realizes that Eddie was grabbing his wallet.

Oh. Oh he’s got a condom in there.

“That sure you were getting lucky?” Buck jokes, but he can feel his entire face heating up, ready to fry an egg on it. Eddie’s got a condom in his wallet and Buck knows that’s a new thing. Eddie’s got an entire pile of photos of Christopher in his wallet that he pulls out for people all the time, if there was a condom in there, Buck would’ve seen it by now.

That means that Eddie put a condom in there recently. Because of Buck. He planned to fuck Buck again, to be with him again—

He viciously grabs the hope rising in his throat and strangles it. He can’t do that, not so soon after Abby, not when it’s just as likely that after their little escapade the other week that Eddie wants to be careful in general, nothing to do with Buck specifically—

Eddie undoes his pants, shoving them down, and Buck hastens to comply. Okay, okay, yeah, he can get behind this.

Then Eddie tells him, “Turn around.”

Buck stares, heat crawling down his spine so fast he has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from coming. Fuck, he’s hard. And already near the edge of desperation from all that grinding.

Eddie gets a slow smile on his face. Like he’s gonna eat Buck alive (he did, in fact, already do that the other day, and Buck is going to be dreaming about that day for years to come). “I said, turn around, boy.”

Buck might pass out from sheer arousal. But he also is a cocky little tease, he can’t help it, he’s gotta push the envelope. He leans in and brushes his lips against Eddie’s, even as he undoes his jeans and pushes them down. “Or what? You gonna spank me?”

In case it wasn’t obvious, he really, really would like that.

Eddie grabs him by the hips and spins him around so that Buck has to brace his hands on the table. But it still doesn’t feel like Eddie’s being rough for the fun of it, or even being rough at all. He’s just teasing, playful, because Buck wanted it and Eddie’s happy to give it to him.

That makes something soft grow in Buck’s chest.

“You want a spanking,” Eddie points out, his voice low and growly and his teeth catching on the curve of Buck’s ear, “you have to earn it.”

Buck shivers all over. Fuuuuuck yeah, he’ll earn it. Maybe not today, but he will, fuck yes.

He hears the _rip_ of the packet and then whines as Eddie moves his hand down slowly. He’s not gonna lie, he’s disappointed that he can’t look at Eddie’s face like this. He loves being able to see Eddie, finds it overall to be more intimate. And if Eddie doesn’t want intimate that’s fine, Buck can handle that, he just thought…

Eddie wraps his free arm around Buck’s waist to haul them together, pressed against each other from ankle to ass to shoulder, and Buck can feel every single tremble of Eddie’s body as Eddie works him open. Eddie buries his face in Buck’s neck even as he buries his cock into him and Buck can feel that slipping out of Eddie again, that same feeling of needing—something, of needing some kind of reassurance, some kind of safety, and Buck pushes back into him, turns his head, manages to catch Eddie’s mouth with his.

Eddie strokes his hand down Buck’s chest, squeezes Buck’s hip with his other hand, and kisses all along Buck’s throat, like he just wants to indulge in all that Buck is and has.

…okay, the hope starts to creep back up in Buck’s chest again.

Buck clenches around Eddie and Eddie groans, nuzzling at Buck’s neck like he’s trying to smear Buck’s scent all over himself. “Good, good, _good_ , so good…”

Buck can’t help himself. He preens under the praise. He braces himself so that he can push back into Eddie’s thrusts, continuing to clench around him, giving Eddie everything he can. He wants to be good and Eddie needs this, needs it so clearly and so badly, just like Buck needed it the other day as he realized Abby was never coming back to him. Eddie took care of him that day, he’ll take care of Eddie now.

There’s a light smack to his ass and Buck jolts, his cock leaking, his mouth falling open. _Fuck_ that’s good. Eddie does it again and Buck sees stars for a split second.

Eddie’s hand moves away and Buck whines, greedy for more. Eddie’s chuckle is dark and low in his ear, accompanied by a particularly hard thrust, and Buck is pretty fucking sure that if Eddie so much as brushes his knuckles against Buck’s cock, he’s gonna come.

Eddie doesn’t do that, though. He buries himself in Buck, his face pressed to Buck’s neck, making rough gasping noises. Buck manages to use just one hand to brace himself (thank fuck for one-armed pushups and similar workouts) so that he can use his free hand to comb through Eddie’s hair, pushing his fingers gently through the fluffy (though increasingly sweaty) strands, soothing him.

They’re pressed together everywhere, their skin growing slick and sliding against each other, and despite the position, Buck feels almost as though he’s holding Eddie more than Eddie’s holding him. Jesus Christ he’s hard, he’s so fucking turned on right now, but honestly that feels almost like a backdrop to the feeling of Eddie pressed against him and making soft, desperate noises into Buck’s skin.

“Fuck.” The swear is quiet, soft, and then Eddie wraps a hand around Buck’s cock, strokes him, just the right amount of pressure without being too rough, and Buck shudders into it.

He can’t stop himself from coming, although a part of him doesn’t want to, a part of him wants to keep going because once they orgasm, that’s the end, and he selfishly wants to keep Eddie close.

But Eddie comes almost as soon as Buck does, and Buck realizes—Eddie was making sure he didn’t leave Buck hanging. He was taking care of Buck, like he always does.

He turns immediately, literally turning in Eddie’s arms because Eddie won’t let go of him, pressing their foreheads together again and just… breathing with him.

“Talk to me.” He wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and grasps the back of his neck, gently rubbing his thumb up and down the soft skin and damp hair. “Eddie.” He pauses, adopts a drawl that he knows is bad. “Texas.”

Eddie manages a short, soft laugh, then kisses him. “I uh. I had to escape. And I—I came to you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He understands. Seriously. He spent about a year using meaningless sex as an escape from everything.

“I just don’t want to ruin our friendship,” Eddie blurts out. “I don’t want to ruin everything—I feel like I’m just gonna—and I can’t fuck this up, too.”

“What else are you going to fuck up?” Buck asks. “Eddie. You’re great at your job, you’re great at being a father, you have nothing to worry about. You’re not a fuck up.”

Eddie makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. “Let’s be honest, Buck, fucking you’s the only thing I’m good at.”

…is that why he’s here? Because he’s an easy lay and so he gives Eddie a boost of self-esteem?

“You’re good at more than that.” Buck shoves aside his own hurt, focuses on Eddie. “Hey. Something’s happened. What is it?”

Eddie tightens his hold on Buck. Like he thinks Buck might run away. “I’m just fucking exhausted. Tired of feeling… it doesn’t matter.”

Buck tightens his hold, too. He doesn’t know what to say to make this better. “How long until Christopher’s out of school? Let’s shower, let’s get something to eat, it’s going to be okay, whatever it is. I’m here.”

Is this about his certification? With being a firefighter? Is it something with his family? Eddie’s dropped a few mentions about his sisters that Buck knows means they’re close, but he’s also dropped a few mentions about his parents that means Buck’s ready with fisticuffs if he ever meets them.

But whatever it is, Eddie’s clearly spiraling, and he’s not going to talk about it. Well, Buck’s handled Eddie spiraling before. He can do it again.

Eddie nods. He’s holding onto Buck like he’s drowning.

 _You said you needed me. Let me take care of you._ Buck swallows. He doesn’t want to push it. “Let’s go, then,” he says softly.

Eddie kisses him, soft and deep. “Thank you.”

Buck’s getting really good at taking care of lovers who are falling apart. “No problem.”

Even if they don’t love him back.

* * *

Eddie’s fucking exhausted by the time he gets Christopher home.

Sex helped. Just—holding Buck like that, burying his face into Buck’s neck and getting to feel completely against him, inside him, it helped. He wants to drag Buck home and wrap around him like that all night, bury his face between Buck’s shoulder blades and hold on until he feels like a solid person again.

The shower and the food afterward helped too. He hadn’t realized how long he’d gone without eating. Buck’s a fucking saint.

He doesn’t want to fuck this up. He doesn’t want to ruin things by turning their friendship-maybe-more into a romance and then have Shannon…

Because she could drag him to court, if she felt like it. If she decides she wants to make a mess of this, he can’t have Buck become a part of that, and Buck will, if he’s Eddie’s boyfriend. The court will want to look into that. They’ll want to look into every aspect of Eddie’s life.

And oh, _fuck_. Buck’s past. Eddie’s past. Their past _together_.

There’s no way that wouldn’t somehow come up. Yeah, that’ll make him look real good in front of a judge. Hey, your honor, so this is my boyfriend, who is also my coworker, and who was a stripper that I fucked only six months after my son’s mother left me.

That’ll go over well.

And Buck’ll be made to look like shit. Eddie knows how it goes with strippers. They’re not prostitutes, but most people don’t see the difference. Not that prostitutes should be judged either but—

The point is. The point is Buck will be humiliated and for what? No good reason, that’s what.

He can’t ruin this.

“Daddy?” Christopher switches between ‘Dad’ and ‘Daddy’ fairly regularly now. Eddie will never admit it, because he wants Christopher to use whatever word makes him the most comfortable, but his heart is gonna break the day Christopher switches to the former exclusively. His baby is growing up too fast. “Can we build a blanket fort?”

Honestly, Eddie kind of wants to just go to sleep, but he knows that if he tries, he’ll just end up staring at the ceiling for hours in a panic. “Sure we can.”

Blanket forts are better for sleeping in anyway.

Christopher gets into his pajamas with the little rocket ships on them while Eddie does the heavy lifting. They use the cushions from the couch, and get pillows and blankets from the beds, and it’s a bit too small for Eddie to fully fit, but it works. Eddie discreetly sets his phone alarm so neither of them oversleeps tomorrow.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Better than last time?”

“Yeah,” Christopher agrees. He holds up a flashlight and Eddie obligingly makes shadow puppets, doing animal noises so Chris has to guess what they are.

He might, just might, be purposefully horrible at the animal noises. Just because it makes Christopher laugh.

“Do you think animals think we make silly noises?” Christopher asks.

“Probably,” Eddie concedes. “I bet they think we talk too much.”

Christopher settles back against Eddie’s shoulder. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you sing the trapeze song?”

Eddie’s not a singer. Ask anyone. Actually please don’t ask his sisters, they’ve got horribly embarrassing blackmail footage. But when he came back and Christopher wouldn’t go to sleep, wouldn’t be coddled, he didn’t know what else to do, so he went to the store, got some of those baby lullaby CDs, and listened to them until he had some lullabies memorized.

Those seemed to work, when nothing else did.

This is another one of those things Christopher will be too old for soon. But for now he wants them. And Eddie’s never going to stay no.

“Yeah, course I can.”

Christopher settles right in and Eddie clears his throat. “Fly through the air on your flying trapeze, hang from the moon, sing in the breeze, nod off to sleep with the greatest of ease, high on your rockabye flying trapeze.”

When he looks at Christopher like this, he can’t blame Shannon for wanting back into his life. How could anyone want to miss out on this?

“Pink northern lights softly shimmer and sway, as you reach your toes towards the white Milky Way. Above the Big Dipper, swing by your knees, high on your rockabye flying trapeze.”

But how can he trust her not to leave again when it’s no longer convenient for her? When Christopher’s medical bills pile up again and he’s difficult and ornery, when he needs constant supervision and Eddie’s at work and Shannon feels stuck again? Will she really stay?

“With wind in your hair and stars in our eyes, I sing calliope lullabies…”

The way Shannon talked in the parking lot made it sound like she blamed herself for what happened to Christopher. As if she’d dropped him or something and that was to blame for all of this. As if Christopher’s anything but perfect just how he is. It doesn’t sit right in Eddie’s stomach.

“…then when you’re ready, call ‘look out below!’ and Daddy will catch you and never let go.”

His throat feels tight and he swallows a few times. “And Daddy will catch you and never let go.”

Christopher’s still hovering on the edge of sleep. Eddie launches right into another song to keep the momentum going. “There’s a man in the moon and he’s been there forever…”

It’s not anybody’s fault that Christopher is the way he is any more than it’s anyone’s fault if a baby is born blind or deaf. He doesn’t want Shannon coming back just because she has a martyr complex. Those only last so long before the energy runs out.

“There’s a man in the moon and he knows what you’re thinkin’, when you’re glad he smiles…”

Christopher’s completely conked out now, down for the count, but Eddie finishes the song anyway. He can’t put Christopher at risk. But if he resists Shannon too much, she might turn this into a fight, and he can’t put Christopher through that, either. And Christopher might _want_ to see his mom again, even if he hasn’t mentioned her in a while…

He doesn’t know.

And until he does know, he can’t be with Buck. He can’t put himself, his son, and Buck himself at risk. He’s got to look after them both.

Fuck.

This means he’s got to tell Buck about Shannon coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs Eddie sings are taken from a CD called “Daddy’s Lullabies” by The Re-Bops, a CD that my mom would put on for me when I was little. It always embodied the idea of a soft, nurturing father, and well, that’s exactly what Eddie is, so I felt there was no more appropriate choice for him to sing to his son. The songs are “Rockabye Flying Trapeze” and “Man in the Moon.”


	12. Chapter 12

Buck loves Maddie. And he loves Chim. And he loves whatever dating-not-dating thing they’ve got going on.

But if they try to set him up with one more person, he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions.

Especially when that person is Taylor Kelly.

Yeah, Buck noticed her. He knows she sent him that drink. And once upon a time, he would’ve done something about it. He would’ve taken her up on her offer and banged her in the bar bathroom. Not all that classy, but… there’d been a spark, and once, he would’ve tried to chase it down and see if he could fan it into something more.

But even though he doesn’t know what he and Eddie are, or what Eddie’s plans are, he’s not going to risk anything by sleeping with a random person. Especially a random person that Eddie really, really, _really_ doesn’t like.

He’s not sure why. She just rubbed Eddie the wrong way, he supposes.

Point is, he’s not going to be the guy who turns around and fucks someone else. He and Eddie might not have really defined what they are, but he knows Eddie’s exclusive. Buck owes it to him to not just casually fuck around.

Besides, why would he want to? Why would he want to sleep with anyone else when he’s got _Eddie Diaz_ voluntarily making out with him? Touching him? Fucking him?

Yeah, he’ll pass.

“I’m good,” he tells Maddie and Chim, who are looking at him with eager, expectant faces.

Both of them look confused. “I mean, I’m not a huge fan of her,” Chim acknowledges, “but she seemed to like you and you seemed to have fun talking with her.”

“Evan Buckley? Saying no to a pretty girl buying him a drink?” Maddie looks delighted. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’re single now!” Chim reminds him.

“Ah, but remember, this is Buck 2.0,” Maddie says, turning to face Chim, who looks so smitten with her that Buck’s shocked there aren’t literal hearts floating out of his eyes. “Buck 2.0 does not sleep around, no no _no_.”

She wags a finger and Chim, somehow, becomes even more sickeningly adoring. Buck loves them both but also, he might puke.

“Maybe he’s got someone else?” Chimney wagers.

“Do you?” Maddie demands, whipping around to look at Buck with a wide smile.

She sounds so hopeful. But Buck’s not betraying Eddie’s confidence by telling them about the… whatever it is they did. The two-night stand? The random fucking? Are they friends with benefits now?

“No.” He shakes his head. “I need some time to be single, after Abby. Get my head together and all that.”

He’s looking at apartments tomorrow, with Eddie’s help.

Maddie and Chim look at each other. There’s skepticism in their eyes, and Buck wants so badly to tell them that he’s got someone, that he’s got feelings for Eddie, he wants to ask their advice… but he can’t betray Eddie’s confidence.

He keeps silent, instead.

* * *

Eddie knows he has to tell Buck about the whole Shannon thing. The full story about what happened, and the fact that she’s back, and that she wants to be a part of Christopher’s life again—and his, judging by the fact that she kissed him.

He really, really doesn’t want to do that.

Buck was his escape last time. The one person he didn’t have to make a part of his messy life. He could show up at Buck’s apartment, having good company, good sex, he could relax and make Buck smile, and that was it. Now, Buck’s a part of Eddie’s whole life. He comes over and has pancakes on Saturday mornings with Christopher. He accompanies them to the park. All three of them play video games together. He’s Eddie’s coworker and Eddie trusts him with his life—they’ve got each other’s backs.

And it’s rewarding, so much more rewarding than when Buck was just a separate bubble from the rest of his life, so. This is the trade-off. He has to tell Buck what’s happening.

Christopher wants to go see Santa, and it’s as good of an opportunity as any, so he invites Buck along. They sit at the fountain and watch Christopher get in line with the other kids.

“I really admire that kid,” Buck says as Eddie snaps a quick picture. “I love the way he always wants to do everything on his own.”

“Yeah.” Video and photos obtained, Eddie puts his phone away. “Um. So. I need to tell you about something.”

“Oh?” Buck cocks his head at him and it’s so damn cute Eddie can feel his face heating up.

“My ex, Shannon, she’s… she’s back.”

 _And I don't know what she'll do._ Last time, his marital spat turned his son into collateral damage. He can't let Buck be the collateral this time. Not when it could destroy his own guardianship of Christopher, Buck's life, both their careers.

Buck blinks a few times. He seems to be struggling to get some kind of emotion under control. “…oh.”

“I only reached out to her because I needed help getting Christopher into his new school.” And the school is working out great, Eddie’s so fucking grateful to Buck and Carla. “When we moved to L.A. I hoped she’d reach out to us on her own and be a part of Christopher’s life again. Her mom got cancer, is the thing, but her mom’s fine now, and even if she—you know, in the same city, she could see her son. She wanted us to move here in the first place.

“But she never did, so I just stopped thinking about it until the school asked and I thought she’d just call them but she came in person and she said she… misses us. And now I don’t know what to do. We never worked out custody.”

“You two never married, right?”

“No. But marriage or divorce doesn’t necessarily change who can do what with the kid.”

Buck shrugs as if to concede the point. “Christopher doesn’t know?”

“I don’t know what he knows.”

Something of his defeat must show in his voice because Buck puts his hand on Eddie’s knee. “What do you want to do?”

“I want… fuck. I want to know what’s right. I said I’d think about it but it’s been a while now and Shannon feels like I’m jerking her around and I can’t blame her for feeling like that. But I just—want to be sure. Christopher can’t afford for us to fuck this up.”

“You’re trying to protect your kid,” Buck points out. His shoulder’s pressing against Eddie’s and Eddie doesn’t know how they got so close again. “I mean she ran out on him, right?”

“I ran out first. I ran out on both of them.”

He takes a deep breath. This is part of what he didn’t want to tell Buck—the ugly, cowardly side of him. The part of him that’ll make Buck see him as less-than.

“See when Christopher was first diagnosed I was in Afghanistan. Right at the end of my tour. Instead of going back home, I re-enlisted. I told myself it was to pay the bills.”

“But you were running away too.” Buck’s voice is factual, but nonjudgmental. His eyes are soft.

God, Eddie doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve Buck being so fucking supportive and understanding. “Yeah. But I got to pretend like it was for a noble cause, serving my country. But when Shannon broke? Nobody called her a hero. She got called evil.”

“And now she wants back in his life.”

Eddie nods.

“Dad!”

Christopher’s finished with Santa. Eddie gets up and grins. “Hey, great job! What did you ask Santa for?”

His son gives him a skeptical look. “It’s a secret.”

“Okay then.” He scoops Christopher up. His son giggles, and Buck winks at the both of them.

Eddie’s just turned away and started to walk when he hears the elf helping Santa say, “You two have an adorable son.”

His heart feels like it’s stumbled and fallen flat on its face. He finds himself holding his breath, wondering what Buck will say in response.

There’s no denial. No embarrassment. He can’t see Buck’s face, but Buck sounds normal, maybe even pleased, when he replies, “Thank you.”

They get Christopher back to the house and have dinner, Buck entertaining as always, and Eddie’s heart squeezes. He wants to keep this. Wishes he could keep this. Maybe, if Buck’s willing, if Buck wants him to—could he let Shannon back into Christopher’s life but not his own?

He’s been asking some people, and they’ve all told him the same thing: _she’s the boy’s mom. Give her a chance. You were in love with her once, weren’t you?_

He doesn’t know what to do. He just knows what he wants. And it’s not Shannon. But he can’t risk himself if Buck doesn’t feel the same.

At last, Christopher starts yawning, and Eddie packs him off to bed. When he gets out, Buck’s waiting with beers in the kitchen, the dishes already cleaned up.

Eddie hates that he can’t kiss him.

“So what do you think?”

“About?” Buck prompts.

 _You two have an adorable son._ Buck didn’t correct her.

“About Shannon.” Eddie accepts the beer from Buck and takes a swig. “My parents hate her but my aunt says—you know, moms are important. Carla says a kid needs his mother. And I don’t know, maybe they’re right.”

He knows that Denny’s growing up just great with two moms and no dad. That May and Harry love both Bobby and Michael. That Maddie was more of a parent to Buck than their actual parents were. Families come in all shapes and sizes.

But at the same time… isn’t there something to the mother-child bond?

When he was tucking Christopher in just now, his son admitted he asked Santa for his mom back. Isn’t it unfair of him to keep Shannon from him, even if it’s in Christopher’s own best interest?

How can he be sure he’s not refusing to give Shannon a chance out of spite and his own wounded pride?

Buck’s eyes go dark and he looks down at his beer. “Well. I don’t know, either. Carla and your aunt, they don’t know Shannon like you do. Only you can make that choice. Do you…” He looks up at Eddie. “Do you want to be with her?”

_I want to be with you._

He can’t be with Buck. He has to protect Buck, he can’t be the reason that Buck’s past comes back to bite him. Christopher taught him that real love is thinking about what the other person needs, not what you want. He has to think about what Buck needs, what’s best for Buck. And what’s best for Christopher.

But _God,_ he wants. The space between the two of them feels like a hair’s breadth and a canyon all at the same moment.

“I feel like I’m… torn between… I don’t know.” Fuck, words, when will he ever get a grip on them? “I didn’t treat her right the first time around. I hurt her, I abandoned her. I never even put a ring on her finger. I wonder if—if I had done that, would it have turned out better?”

Buck nods, looking thoughtful.

“I did what I wanted before: I ran away. Look how that turned out.” Eddie shrugs, takes another sip of beer. “I want to do what’s right.”

What feels right is Buck. But doesn’t he owe Shannon a proper chance?

“If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”

He wants Buck to say _I love you, choose me_. But he doesn’t know how to ask for that. He doesn’t know how to do that without making it sound like some awful ultimatum. He can’t demand that of Buck. He can’t demand that of anyone. And he still has to protect Buck’s past.

But God, he wants Buck to say, _be with me. Ignore everyone else and be with me._

He wishes he knew how to say that without sounding like a petulant child.

Buck makes a pained sort of laugh. “I’d stick by her,” he admits. “I’d give her another chance, try to do it right.”

Eddie nods. “Even if…”

Buck looks up at him, eyes soft.

The words stick in his throat. “Promises matter, I guess.”

He can see Buck swallowing. “Yeah. They do.”

Okay. He’ll listen to what everyone’s saying. And he’ll do the right thing by Shannon. She wants him, and she wants a second chance, and he owes that to her. He’ll do the right thing.

* * *

He fucked up.

He fucked up and now he’s in handcuffs, and Chimney’s possibly dying, and Doug has Maddie. _Doug has Maddie._

Doug’ll hurt her. Maybe even kill her.

Buck wants to fucking scream.

“So. That was a bold move.”

He looks up.

Eddie’s standing there, looking exasperated and relieved at the same time.

Buck nearly whines in relief. He knows, logically, that Eddie can’t magically fix this, but fuck, he just wants him to make everything better.

Eddie sits down next to him and it takes each last strand of willpower Buck’s got not to slump onto him and bury his face in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I know. ‘What were you thinking, Buck’? I already got an earful from Athena.”

And it was a hell of an earful.

Eddie shrugs. “I know what you were thinking. I’ve got sisters, too. Still not sure how you thought you were getting away with it, though.”

He gives Buck a small smile, one that’s just so damn fond, Buck’s heart feels like it’s breaking. He knows that he’s Eddie’s best friend. Eddie’s warm and open about his affection that way. But he’d give anything, absolutely anything in the world, to have Eddie looking at him like that and mean it the way Buck does when he smiles at Eddie.

Eddie made his choice, Buck reminds himself. Eddie wanted to do the right thing, he wanted to try and fix things with Shannon and Buck can’t blame him. Buck would do the same thing in Eddie’s place, even if he doesn’t think it’s the thing that’s best for Eddie. That’s his own opinion.

“I wasn’t worried about that.” Getting caught was never the issue. “See the police have all these rules, you know? Rules that are going to get Maddie killed. But I’m a civilian. Those—those rules, they don’t apply to me, right?”

Eddie looks like he’s got an entire essay to say in response, but instead he just says, “Then why are you in hospital jail?”

His eyes feel hot and itchy and he has to look away. “I told Maddie…”

He swallows. Fuck.

“I said that she didn’t need to keep running. That she could start over here, that she would be safe. That I would keep her safe.”

Eddie makes a soft noise. “This isn’t your fault.”

Buck shakes his head. He could’ve done better. He should’ve done better.

“What if she had kept running?” Eddie points out. “You think he wouldn’t have found her? Only then she’d be alone.”

“She’s alone now. With him.” With that monster.

Eddie goes still, and then he moves his hand, like he’s reaching out. His fingers brush against the back of Buck’s hand and Buck’s tempted to just grab hold, to cling to the lifeline—

Athena walks up.

Eddie pulls his hand away.

It’s suddenly a blur, the cuffs coming off, Athena helping him to go find Maddie, to track her down and get her free, and in the chaos of it all Eddie doesn’t come with them, which makes sense, why _would_ Eddie come with them, except—

That evening, he gets Maddie to Chim. She didn’t know he was alive. Doug thought he’d killed him, and Chimney was unconscious when Doug dragged Maddie past his body. God, dragged Maddie past it—past her boyfriend’s body, making her see that—he knows Chim and Maddie aren’t officially… well, he doesn’t really know, but if it was him and he had to see Eddie like that—

Maddie sits by Chim’s bedside, crying and smiling all at once, holding his hand.

“See?” Eddie says, walking up.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Buck protests. He nods towards his sister. “It was all her.”

“But you were there afterwards. There are some things we can only do ourselves but that doesn’t mean you were useless. She knows you were looking for her.”

Buck can’t even imagine. Being so helpless, praying someone will come for him. The man he—thinking that—

He looks at Eddie, who’s smiling at Maddie and Chimney. Probably thinking about Shannon, or something.

Buck looks away.

Eddie’s hand presses into his back, then slides up to grasp his shoulder. “Hey. She’s okay. You found her.”

Maddie’s okay. Maddie will always be okay, now. Doug is gone, she’s _safe_. That’s something worth being grateful for.

He looks back at Eddie. “Yeah. She never stops fighting.”

“Just like her brother.” Eddie smiles warmly at him and Buck’s heart skips a beat. “I gotta go home, uh, Shannon’s watching Christopher but…”

Of course. Buck tries to keep his face neutral. He can still feel the tingle on the back of his hand where Eddie brushed his fingers. “Yeah, no worries, nothing to do now but keep an eye on the lovebirds anyway.”

Eddie squeezes his shoulder and walks away, and Buck harnesses all his self-control and doesn’t ask him to stay.

His hand still tingles.


	13. Chapter 13

He calls Ali. She’s a nice girl, a fun girl, she’s got a successful career. And it’s time he got back on the horse. Stopped waiting around for people who aren’t coming.

Their first date is… nice. It’s fine. She’s great, a wonderful person, clearly, he should like her.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t.

They do a second date, and on the third, they both acknowledge that it’s just not working. She tells him she’ll call him whenever she’s in town. “You look like you could use a friend. And I like you. As a friend, I mean.”

It sounds nice. Really.

He doesn’t want to go home after that disappointment. He feels bent out of shape, out of place, floating without a tether.

 _Are you awake?_ It’s not too late in the evening, but Maddie’s always been an early sleeper.

_Yeah. Everything okay?_

_Can I come over?_

Maddie’s got her special hot chocolate (pinch of cinnamon and a dash of whiskey) waiting for him when he arrives. “What’s wrong?”

Buck sits down at the table and sips his hot chocolate. “I, uh, I tried dating someone. Ali. She’s the woman that Eddie and I rescued at the hotel when the earthquake happened.”

“…I’m guessing that since you’re here it didn’t go too well,” Maddie says, sipping at her own coco.

“It was fine. We’re just better as friends. I couldn’t—my heart wasn’t in it and she could tell.”

“Is it Abby?” Maddie asks, graciously leaving the judgment out of her tone.

Buck rubs his fingers against the hot mug. “No. Um. It’s someone else. But—to explain it I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“When I said I was in South America? Bartending? I… um. I wasn’t.” His whole chest feels tight. His stomach is shaking. “I lied. I mean I was, a bartender, for like a month? And I backpacked through some countries. But then I settled in Mexico and I was a…”

He’s not ashamed of it. But he has no idea how Maddie’s going to take it.

“I was a stripper.”

Maddie blinks a few times, seems to realize he’s not joking, and then takes a long look out the window. “All right.” She looks back at him. “Was this to get back at Mom and Dad…?”

“God, no.” He realizes his tone is adversarial and he gentles it. “Sorry. It’s just—a lot of us got asked that. The women especially. If they had Daddy issues, if that’s why they were doing this. People asked me too, sometimes. It was…” Buck shakes his head. “Most of our customers were decent people. Just having fun. And some of the people who asked us meant well. They genuinely wanted to know. But it’s still… no. Mom and Dad had nothing to do with it. I did it because I like attention, I like showing off, and I know I’m hot. It was fun for me.”

Maddie nods. “Okay.”

“So I was stripping, and in September, uh. This guy comes in with a bachelor party. And—the thing is I didn’t sleep with clients, I just—it’s important that you get that.”

“But you slept with this one.” Maddie’s voice is gentle.

Buck nods. “I didn’t know his name. But he was really, really hot. I gave him a lap dance, gave him my number, long story short we ended up pretty much holing up together in my apartment for four days.”

“Four days?” Maddie snorts. “God, you’d think you were in high school again.”

“High school boys do not have that man’s stamina.” He can still recall the time Eddie fucked him through the damn mattress for what felt like hours. “Point is, he was… it was good. He was a great guy. We really… had something. Or I thought we did. He had to go home but I—”

It sounds so stupid to say it out loud.

Maddie takes his hands where they’re still wrapped around his mug, flattens his fingers against the ceramic, keeps him warm. “It’s okay, Evan. You were lonely. He was kind.”

“He was funny, and sweet, and… I really fuckin’ liked him.”

“What happened? He had your number.”

“I changed it. When I moved back to the States. I tried calling him once but his son picked up and I got confused, I thought it meant he was married.”

Maddie narrows her eyes a little at the mention of a son, and Buck wonders if she’s starting to put the pieces together.

Buck takes a deep breath. “Last year, I walked into work and the guy’s getting dressed in the locker room.”

“Oh, honey.” Maddie squeezes his hands. “It was Eddie.”

Buck nods. His eyes hurt.

Maddie gets up and walks over to him, pulling his head into her chest, running her fingers through his hair. They used to do this all the time when they were young, before Buck grew taller than she was.

“Sorry.” He’s getting her shirt all wet. “Um. Yeah. Turns out he wasn’t married. And he’s a great guy. And he’s my coworker.”

“Eddie’s with Shannon, isn’t he?”

“They never married. But he wants to do the… he wants to be a family.”

He can feel Maddie’s body shifting as she nods. She keeps stroking his hair. “Okay.”

After another minute, he gets his composure back and sits up. Maddie returns to her seat and Buck finishes his hot chocolate. “So um. Yeah. Now you know.”

“So you just… decided to quite stripping and become a firefighter?”

“Well tourist season was ending and I didn’t want to reapply for a visa, and LA was close.” And a whole continent away from Mom and Dad. “I wanted to be a SEAL but that was a bust, and I saw some firefighters on TV and I thought—that’s a way to help people. I can do that. I can be someone, like that. Rest is history.”

“Mmm. I feel like you’re leaving out a small detail.”

Is he? Buck wracks his brain.

Maddie sighs. “I’ve heard the stories from Howie. Buck 1.0? You put a lot of notches in your bedpost your first year here.”

An embarrassing number of notches. He’s glad he was never the type to keep count because if he was he’d probably have to hide his head in the sand and never emerge. Not that a lot of sex is bad, or anything, but God, he was a real dick about it.

“What does that have to do with Eddie?”

Maddie tilts her head at him. “Do you think that maybe—I’m not a therapist, but I know you, Evan. I know you had a lot of toxic masculinity to unlearn. I know Dad didn’t do much for you. But don’t you think maybe sleeping around with people all the time, before Abby—wasn’t because you were trying to make lightning strike twice?”

“What do you mean?”

Maddie tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean that—you met Eddie. He was hot, you two had sex, it was just a hook up, but it turned into something more. Even if you didn’t talk about it, what you’re telling me now is that you felt something. You were developing feelings. So do you think that maybe, all those hook ups after, you were hoping that the same thing would happen with one of them that happened with Eddie? That you would fall into another relationship?”

Buck fidgets with his mug. “I—I mean.”

Putting it like that, yeah. That’s probably exactly what it was.

“I know that relationships need work,” he offers up, feeling exposed and defensive, like a bug flipped onto its back. “Eddie was just—we were both really lost.”

“He was a safe place. I get it, Buck, we’ve all had our vacation romances.”

That raises up some questions for him about Maddie that he is not going to pursue. “I really liked him.”

“I can tell. And it’s not a bad thing that you wanted it to happen again.”

“But it wasn’t—it was looking for the easy answer. For love to just—happen.” And love doesn’t work like that.

Maddie nods. “Exactly.”

“Love’s not found, it’s made.”

Maddie looks impressed. “Um, yeah, exactly. Did you read that?”

“I heard it.”

He tells her about the couple, about one unable to live without the other, and Maddie does tear up a bit at that, has to wipe her eyes. The topic sort of veers off from there into other things—her calls from work, her coworkers, one in particular that she would set up with someone if she could find anyone she felt was good enough—until Buck’s getting ready to head out the door.

Maddie hugs him, then takes his shoulders in her hands. “Evan.”

“Madeline.”

“I would give Eddie time with Shannon. I don’t think things are… the way you think they are.”

Buck wants to tell her that she doesn’t know Eddie as well as he does, but he doesn’t want to be hurtful. “Is it… wrong of me to say I don’t—I can’t—be hopeful?”

“It’s not wrong at all.” Maddie drops her hands. “It’ll be okay. However it turns out.”

Buck wishes he could believe her.

* * *

They say you’re supposed to feel a bit nervous before proposing, but Eddie’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to feel like actually vomiting.

He hasn’t touched his dinner. He doesn’t trust himself.

Shannon seems delighted by the nice restaurant, though. That’s good.

Things have been… nice. Fine. Christopher’s been over the moon to have his mom back. It doesn’t make sense for Shannon to live separately anymore, not when the two of them have been taking Christopher places together and cooking meals together for him. They haven’t done anything… the most is a few kisses, on the cheek, or briefly on the mouth when saying hello or goodbye.

He’s making it work, he’s doing what everyone told him to do, what everyone said was right. _A kid needs his mother. You should’ve put a ring on her finger. You loved her, didn’t you?_

But he can’t make himself desire someone when it’s just not there.

They were married in all but name once. Shannon said she missed Christopher and that she missed him. She’s been back in their lives. He needs to do it right this time.

“Hey.” He smiles at her across the table.

Shannon smiles back. “Hey yourself.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Great, this is really great.” She waves her hand to indicate all around them. “This place is amazing. You know how to spoil a girl.”

Bobby suggested the place, although Eddie didn’t say why he was asking. Bobby’s been giving him odd looks whenever Shannon’s mentioned.

“I want to know, though,” Shannon goes on. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t forget my own birthday, did I?”

He tries to laugh and can’t quite manage it. The small box in his pocket feels like a hundred pounds. “Actually, I, um.”

Fuck it. He just launches into what he’s been practicing in the mirror for days.

“When you came back into our lives, I was afraid. I knew Christopher missed you but I didn’t know… what to do. But now I do. We were so young the first time. We were young and not ready. But we have this amazing kid. Being his dad has been the single greatest joy of my life. And that little boy has taught me more about being a man than war ever did.”

Shannon’s eyes grow soft. “You’re a good dad. You’re a _great_ dad.”

“Well if I am it’s because he deserves it.” Eddie takes a deep breath. “He deserves his mom, too. He loves his mom.”

He takes Shannon’s hand. He’s doing what he should’ve done in the first place. He’s fixing his mistake. “I want us to be a family again. The right way, this time. I wished for a sign, to know what to do, and…”

He pulls out the box, putting it in front of her and opening it. He’s not getting down on one knee, not in front of everyone like this, but… “Shannon, will you—”

“No.” Shannon blurts out.

Eddie feels like she just hit him in the face with a truck. “What?”

“I’m not. I don’t want to marry you, I’m sorry, I know I probably gave you that impression but…”

Alcohol. He needs—alcohol. He picks up his glass of wine and downs the entire thing.

“That’s got to be a relief, right?” Shannon tries a smile. It slides right off her face.

“Why would that be a relief?” It is, though. In a weird, sick way.

Shannon looks away. Her eyes are wet. “I wrote this letter, a few years ago. Right after I left. Actually, after I… didn’t come back. To Christopher. Trying to explain why I couldn’t be there. I figured if for some reason I never found my way back that he’d want answers. And he needed to know that it wasn’t his fault. That his mother didn’t leave because she didn’t love him, she left because she did. I never sent it obviously. And today, when you said you’d gotten us these reservations, I took that letter out, and I read it… Eddie I never want to have to send that letter.”

He feels like he did in the parking lot when she told him that it was her fault Christopher had CP. He’s not sure if he feels nauseous, outraged, or insubstantial. “Why would you ever?”

“Because if I do this again before I’m ready, there will never be a second chance. I can’t fail him again. Or you. And I won’t. I’m still learning how to be someone’s mother. And after that maybe I can learn to be someone’s wife.”

Is she—is she implying that being with him, being his wife, is so stressful that it would make her leave Christopher?

“I—” He literally is at a loss for words. His mind is blank. He has no fucking clue what to say.

For some insane reason he wants to yank his phone out and call Buck.

“We should… um…” Shannon gently slides the box back towards him. Eddie pockets it automatically, before anyone can see and start gossiping. “We should probably… get the check.”

“Yeah.” Eddie holds his hand up for the server.

This is going to be an awkward car ride.

* * *

Buck’s on his day off when he gets the call from Bobby.

“You doing anything?”

“Nope.” Just idly scrolling through furniture stores looking for stuff to buy for his new apartment. “You need someone to taste-test a new recipe?”

“You need to come to the Ronald Reagan UCLA,” Bobby replies.

That’s the hospital in Westwood. “Is it Maddie?” He’s already on his feet, grabbing his jacket.

“It’s Eddie.”

Buck’s entire body goes numb and the phone nearly slips from his fingers. No. No, no, no, no—

“He needs your support.”

Buck’s legs buckle. He doesn’t feel it. He falls down onto the couch. “Bobby—is he—”

“He’s fine, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Buck, I phrased that wrong.” Bobby sounds genuinely apologetic. “I meant—it’s Shannon. She was—it was a car accident. She died on the way to the hospital.”

Shit.

“The 118 was the team that got the call. They got onto the scene.”

Oh _fuck._ Eddie was there, he had to see that, he had to get this call and arrive and see it was the woman he loved—

“I met them there, the team’s still on duty so they had to leave and thought he should have someone.”

“Christopher?”

“With Eddie’s grandmother. They don’t know yet, I don’t think.”

No, Eddie would want to tell them in person. “I’ll be there.”

Somehow, he gets to his feet. Slides on his shoes. “I’ll be there, Bobby, I’m on my way.”

He kind of wants to ask why Bobby thinks he should be there, but then, he is known as Eddie’s best friend. Bobby probably thinks he’d be a better fit than Eddie’s boss. But Bobby’s the one who’s lost a spouse, Bobby’s the one who knows what that’s like, not Buck.

Doesn’t matter, though. He’s hopping into his car, he’s breaking speed limits, he’s going to get there. Fuck LA traffic. He won’t leave Eddie alone.

* * *

They let him see her body.

There’s paperwork to fill out. Identities to confirm. It’s mind-numbing. He feels like he’s not quite awake.

When he walks out into the lobby, he just wants to sink into the floor. Christopher. How’s he going to tell Christopher?

Bobby was there with him, but he doesn’t see him now. They had other calls, of course, they couldn’t stay, he gets it—

“Eddie.”

Buck’s there.

Eddie’s got no idea how Buck got here, but he’s grateful as fuck for it as Buck crosses to him and pulls him without hesitation into a hug. He digs his fingers into Buck’s back, presses his mouth to Buck’s shoulder, trembles against the warm line of Buck’s body against his.

“I need to tell Christopher.”

“I know,” Buck concedes. “I know, but in a minute. In a minute.”

The hospital doesn’t care that he’s crying and holding onto someone. There’s someone else doing the exact same thing three feet away. People are crying, yelling, dying, being saved, it’s a hospital. Nobody cares. He can break down a little.

He buries himself in Buck’s warmth, holds on so tightly it has to hurt, but Buck just lets Eddie sink into him.

Shannon didn’t want him. She said she loved him, but she didn’t want to be with him. Eddie said he loved her.

He lied.

He lied, he lied, he _lied,_ because she was dying and he was trying so _badly_ to love her, trying so hard this whole time to do right by her, to do what everyone said—

But God, just because he didn’t love her doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel sick now that she’s gone. She’s been a part of his life for over a decade. He’s known her since freshman year of high school, dated her since junior year. She didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t deserve this.

And he lied to her.

He can feel Buck pressing his face to Eddie’s temple, his mouth against Eddie’s skin, almost but not quite a kiss, and Eddie feels like shattering. He told Shannon he loved her, but now he’s being held by the man he really means those words for. As much as he wants to turn his face, to kiss and be kissed properly—he can’t. It would be like slapping Shannon in the face. She just _died._ He can’t.

He lied to her and she died. He lied to her because she was dying. He lied to her before that, when he proposed, when he said they should give their relationship a chance, he tried so hard and she ended up dead and so what did he do all that lying for why didn’t he why _did_ he why—

“Breathe, Eddie, hey, breathe.” Buck rubs Eddie’s back. “Hey, Texas, breathe with me.”

The nickname amuses him just a little, just enough, and he inhales sharply. Exhales. Inhales. Does it again. Buck hums in his ear, holds him, and lets Eddie shake against him. Buck’s warm. He smells like coconut and sandalwood. He’s solid.

Finally, Eddie stops shaking. Buck rubs his back and doesn’t let go until Eddie does.

“How’d you—”

“Bobby called.” Buck shrugs sheepishly. “Thought I could help.”

That man’s too astute for his own good. “Thank you.”

He wants to kiss Buck so badly. He wants to keep holding him, wants Buck to keep hugging him. But he asked Buck what he wanted and Buck… told him to go back to Shannon.

Whatever this is between them, it’s not what Eddie wants it to be. It’s just how Buck is, free with affection, free with sex, and Eddie got his answer. He can’t read into this now. He can’t reach for something he can’t have.

“I need to go tell Christopher.” He’s with Abuela. Fuck.

Buck nods. “Call me. Anything you need, Eddie, I’m serious. Call me. I’ll order you pizza or clean your damn house, just—let me know.”

The family’s going to want to come down. Mom and Dad are going to want him to come home. It’s going to be a mess. He wants nothing more than to have Buck be by his side and keep him steady.

But he asked Buck. He got his answer.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

He recovered on his own before, he can do it again.


	14. Chapter 14

Buck’s just ended his shift when his phone rings. Eddie.

“Hey.” He nods at Chim as he answers, indicating for the other man to go on ahead. He and Chimney were going to stop by Maddie’s but if Eddie needs him, Buck’ll change his plans.

He suspects his sister will prefer having Chimney all to herself, anyway.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Eddie sounds exhausted. “Could you do me a huge favor and take Christopher for a bit? Carla’s busy and I can’t—”

Eddie’s voice lowers. “Mom and Dad and I—we need to hash some stuff out and I don’t want Chris to be around for it.”

“Hey, no problem. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

When he arrives at Eddie’s abuela’s place, there are people everywhere. He recognizes Josephina and the aforementioned abuela, of course, but that’s it. He’s not sure if he should come inside or not.

Eddie emerges with Christopher a moment later. His face lights up with relief when he sees Buck and Buck waves, feeling like an idiot as he smiles. Eddie looks… well. He’s looked better. But just seeing him after a week of silence is enough. Buck can feel the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

“Hey, buddy!” He crouches down to high-five Christopher. “It’s been so long since we had a date, just you and me, I hope it’s okay I steal you from your dad for a bit.”

Christopher’s more subdued than usual as he high-fives Buck and nods. The poor kid. Buck wasn’t a fan of Shannon, but Christopher loved her, and he’s only seven.

“C’mere. I have the best place.” He helps Christopher get into his car, then turns to Eddie.

“Thanks.” Eddie looks like he might fall over, and Buck grabs onto his elbows before he can second-guess it. “Um. They want me to move back to Texas.”

“What?” No. Please, no.

“Yeah.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair. “I just—Christopher had to hear enough arguing about Shannon and about me before we moved, I don’t want him to have to hear it again.”

“I get it. I’m taking him to Sky Zone, he’ll have a blast. It’ll get him out of his head.”

Sky Zone was an indoor trampoline park that had a few locations around LA. It was wall-to-wall trampolines, soft squishy ball pits, and all kinds of ways to be bouncy and active while being perfectly safe. It would be perfect for Christopher.

“Thank you. Seriously.” Eddie reaches down and takes hold of Buck’s arms, so they’re grasping each other. Buck’s heart is racing. “It’s. Anyway. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Stand up for yourself,” Buck insists. “You belong here. If you want, I mean. To stay here. But you’re not alone here, and we—we want you to stay. You’re a great dad. Don’t let them tell you differently.”

Eddie gives him a look so fond and soft that under any other circumstance, Buck would think Eddie’s about to kiss him. “Don’t let him have too much sugar. You’ll regret it.”

“I promise. Only two bowls of ice cream,” Buck teases, winking. He forces himself to step back. “It’ll be good for him.”

Eddie nods goodbye, and Buck gets into the car. “You had lunch, buddy?”

Christopher nods.

God, this poor kid. Buck’s heart breaks. “Hey.”

Christopher looks up at him.

Buck grins. “You want an excuse to throw things?”

Christopher nods.

“Then c’mon.”

Christopher loves playing dodgeball, getting to throw the soft balls at Buck who fakes a very dramatic injury every time, and swinging into the soft ball pit, and bouncing on the trampolines. Sometimes grief is quiet and deep, and Buck gets that, but sometimes grief is so much emotion you can’t hold it all, and he suspects Christopher has a little of that right now. He might have CP but he’s still a kid, he still wants to rant and rail at the world sometimes.

They get pizza afterwards. He gets Christopher to laugh. And he gets Chris home, lets him have only a little ice cream, and reads him some books.

They’re in the middle of chapter one of _The Hobbit_ when Eddie raps on the doorway and leans against it.

“Daddy.” Christopher lights up, and Buck knows when to make a strategic retreat.

“He’s all yours,” he murmurs as he passes Eddie. “I’ll warm something up for you.”

It takes nearly an hour for Eddie to emerge from Christopher’s room. His eyes are red. Buck silently slides him the spaghetti he whipped up. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm and comforting.

Eddie nods at him and they sit in silence. Buck keeps reading the book he stole from Eddie’s shelf, a science fiction piece that’s good but frankly makes him keep re-reading passages to make sure he understands what the fuck is going on.

Finally, Eddie pushes his bowl away. “They always hated her.”

Buck looks up and sets the book down. “Shannon?”

Eddie nods. “She was never good enough for them and she knew it. I’m not saying that’s why she left but it didn’t help. Hearing your mother-in-law make these comments all day every day…”

“She still chose to leave.”

“I just—I’m not trying to excuse what she did.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face. “But she wasn’t—I can think what she did was wrong without saying she’s just an all-around—it’s not black and white like that. And once again they’re acting like I moved to LA just because of Shannon, I did all this just for Shannon, and I’m gonna be honest, yeah, she was in LA but I had other reasons. I needed a job that let me see my son, I needed a job with health insurance, I wasn’t just chasing Shannon around.”

Eddie shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling. His eyes are wet. “All this time and they still have no fuckin’ faith in me. They want me to come back home so they can do things their way, so they can keep an eye on Christopher, so they can make all the decisions.

“And I should be able to be—upset with what Shannon did without ignoring all the good, because she was good sometimes, I loved her when we had our kid, I don’t—God it’s all so backwards—and what, can’t we just have one fucking minute where I get to remember the good parts of her without my parents mentioning how awful she was?”

“What good parts of her,” Buck asks.

Eddie looks at him.

Buck shrugs. “I mean it. Tell me about her. What good parts of her? Your family won’t let you remember the good, okay, let’s do it here.”

“Um.” Eddie wipes at his eyes. “I used to take her salsa dancing when we were dating. And she would tear up the dance floor. She loved to spin. Guys always spin too much.” He grins sheepishly at Buck and Buck’s heart melts. “I mean, guilty here, too. So you grab a girl and she’ll tell you, hey, no more than three spins, or whatever her limit is. But Shannon had no limits, she’d just spin and spin and spin. She loved it.

“It was the cutest fucking thing. And we didn’t really—I mean we were in high school, we didn’t have a ton of money to go out and do shit, but five bucks each got us into a salsa club and we’d spend all night there.”

Eddie pauses. “I think—when I try to think about her, that’s who I’m picturing. Not the person who disappointed me. That girl. That girl deserves to be remembered.”

Buck thinks Eddie is way too kind and forgiving, but then, Buck’s not in love with Shannon.

“Wait.” He grins. “You can dance?”

“Oh God.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yes, white boy, I can dance.”

“Whoa, whoa, excuse me. I’m a _stripper_. I gave you a _lap dance_. I can fucking dance.”

Eddie looks like he’s bypassed skeptical and is rounding the turn to go straight into ‘yeah right’. “Mmm. Because grinding on my lap is definitely the same thing as salsa dancing.”

“I did more than that and you know it.”

“You’re right,” Eddie concedes, grinning at him. “You also took off your clothes. Masterful work. Totally the same thing.”

“Okay.” This isn’t where he expected this conversation to go but like hell he’s going to let this chance to distract Eddie pass him by. Anything to stop the tailspin and to get Eddie thinking about something other than his family’s lack of faith in him and their demonizing of his child’s mother. “You’re so good, show me.”

Buck gets to his feet.

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him, then shrugs and stands. “I’m leading.”

“I’m bigger.”

“By like an inch, you moron, and if you think being bigger means you’re leading—”

Eddie positions him and oh, wow, okay, he is getting _right_ up into Buck’s space. Eddie smirks. “What? Never danced in a close hold before?”

Buck’s pretty sure that this isn’t how you’re supposed to start out but he knows jack shit about any type of proper dancing so he can’t call Eddie out on it.

The bastard.

“You just mirror me,” Eddie murmurs.

Buck stares down at their feet. Eddie moves his hand under Buck’s chin and tilts it up. Fuck.

“Eyes up here.” There’s a teasing glint in Eddie’s eyes and Buck would say he’s being flirted with, but Shannon just died, so it can’t be that. It’s just… goofing off, Eddie having fun with him and teasing him, it’s how their relationship’s always been. Towing that line between friends and sex.

Eddie takes a step, Buck fumbles, and nearly lands on his ass.

Eddie bursts out laughing.

“You didn’t warn me we were starting!”

“The whole point is that you just follow what I do.” Eddie presses his forehead to Buck’s. “Okay, c’mon, try again, fancy dancer.”

They make it through a few simple steps this time. The up-and-down movement of it takes some getting used to, and Eddie bursts out laughing again. “You’re not supposed to—oh my God, move from your knees, not your entire body, you’re not a pogo stick.”

“If I move from my knees how am I gonna do it like you are?”

“You just—just move the way you’re supposed to and the rest of it will follow, okay? Stop trying to be all sexy with the hips.”

“That’s literally my entire repertoire.”

“For stripping, sure. You are not stripping. You’re dancing. Stop wiggling your hips.”

They start a third time, and— “See! See you’re moving your hips!”

“ _I’m supposed to be._ ”

“You just told me not to!”

“Walk before we can run, Padawan.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie drops his hands down to Buck’s hips to guide him. “That’s why we’re dancing in my kitchen at nine p.m. After you made me dinner. Because you hate me.”

“Yup.” Buck doesn’t understand the knee-hips-no-hips difference thing, but he sure does know that Eddie’s dragging their bodies together in a way that’s starting to make his pants tight. “I really hate you.”

Eddie smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and Buck trips, nearly sending the both of them to the floor.

They just manage to catch themselves, and Eddie’s arm goes around his waist to haul him back up, which only succeeds in them slamming together and nearly falling the other way.

Eddie has to drop his head to Buck’s shoulder to muffle his laughter and keep from waking Christopher.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Okay, so maybe he can’t dance. Sue him.

Eddie straightens up. Buck’s arms are still over his, his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie’s arm is around his waist and Eddie’s other hand is gripping his hip. They’re pressed together, foreheads practically touching.

Eddie’s expression, his eyes, his smile, are all so warm. “I hate you too. For the record.”

They stop moving. Somehow. Buck doesn’t know. He’s not in charge of the dancing, here. But they stop and then it’s just the two of them holding onto each other, inches apart.

Eddie’s gaze drops to Buck’s mouth, and Buck—he can’t mistake that meaning. Can he… should they…

“Dad?”

They leap apart and Buck hits one of the kitchen chairs with his hip, wincing.

Christopher walks into the room. Oh, shit. The kid’s face is all red.

“Buddy, hey, hey.” Eddie switches into parent mode immediately and crosses to him. “What’s wrong?”

Christopher’s lip wobbles, and oh God. Buck’s heart fucking breaks.

“C’mere.” Eddie pulls Christopher into a hug. Christopher nestles in at once, holding on tight. “You need me to sleep with you?”

“…yes, please.” Christopher’s voice is soft and scared, and it’s the saddest fucking thing Buck’s ever heard in his life.

Eddie picks Christopher up. “I should…”

“Yeah, I need to get home anyway.” Buck walks over and ruffles Christopher’s hair. “Hey, buddy, I love you, okay?”

It’s all he knows how to say. What else _can_ you say, when a child’s parent is dead? All he can do is love, and hope it’ll work out.

“Love you too, Buck.” Christopher smiles at him. Whatever Buck thinks about Shannon, her son doesn’t deserve to be going through this.

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers. “For everything.”

“My pleasure.” He doesn’t ask about… what might’ve just almost happened. Eddie just lost Shannon, people do weird things when they’re grieving. He’s not going to hold it against him or try to read too much into it. “See you tomorrow.”

Eddie’s murmuring comfortingly to Christopher as Buck slips out the front door. He wants to stay. He wants to stay all night, to make sure both of them are okay. But it’s not his place. He just has to give what he can, and hope that it’s enough.

* * *

It’s so fucking nonsensical, but the first thing that pops into his head is, _we were dancing a week ago._

Not that you could call what Buck was doing ‘dancing’. More like stumbling around like a baby deer.

But he was using his legs, just naturally, and bobbing up and down like an idiot—an adorable idiot—and trying to move his hips the right way and—

And now he’s holding Eddie’s hand in the back of an ambulance and he might not ever use that leg again.

“We have to—” Chim says, and Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach. _We have to intubate her._ If they need to intubate Buck, if they—

“—put the line here,” Chim finishes. “It’s going to be okay, Buck, just hold on.”

Buck’s gripping Eddie’s hand so tightly Eddie’s pretty sure he’s lost circulation in his fingers, but he doesn’t fucking care. He yanks his glove off so he can stroke through Buck’s hair, give him something positive to focus on besides whatever godawful pain he’s in.

Hen does something to Buck’s leg and he screams. Eddie wants to claw his own ears off, he wants to make the ambulance go faster, something, anything to get Buck to never make that sound again, to make Buck feel better.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he lies, he lies and lies and lies, holding onto Buck’s hand and trying not to throw up with panic at all the blood he’s seeing. “We’re almost there.”

Buck’s voice is hoarse when he speaks, raw and scared. “Texas…”

“Why’s he talking about the state?” Hen asks.

“He’s delusional,” Chim replies. “I don’t know what I was saying with a rebar in my head but I bet it wasn’t logical.”

“I’m here,” Eddie promises. He knows what Buck’s saying but he’s not taking the time to explain it to the others. “Hey, I’m here, I’ve got you. I’m not leaving.”

“…hurts.”

“I know, I know, that’s why we’re taking you to the hospital. It’s okay.” God, please let it be okay, please, please, why is it taking so fucking long!?

A week ago, he smiled for the first time, laughed for the first time, since Shannon died. Because of Buck. Because Buck took care of his kid, and made him dinner, and let Eddie make jokes about how he couldn’t dance.

Now Buck’s whimpering in pain and begging Eddie, _Eddie,_ to make it better.

And Eddie can’t.

“You’re going to be okay,” he repeats. Hen and Chim are working, they’re not looking at him, so he presses a kiss to the back of Buck’s hand.

Once he’s pressed his mouth there, he can’t pull away. He keeps Buck’s hand pressed to his cheek, right up against the corner of his mouth. Keeps stroking his hand through Buck’s hair. “I’ve got you, it’ll be okay.”

“Am I gonna lose it?”

“You’re not losing it,” Eddie snaps, ferocity rising up in his blood like a dragon. “You’re going to be fine.”

“We can’t make promises like that,” Chim whispers.

Eddie ignores him.

A look of relief slides across Buck’s face. He smiles. “Knew you’d…” He trails off, then blinks, scrunches his nose, like he’s resetting. He looks up at Eddie like Eddie hung every star in the sky. “Hey, Texas.”

Buck’s eyes roll back and he passes out.

“Fuck!” Eddie grabs for him. “Hen!”

“I know!” Hen shoves him aside. “We’re just around the corner!”

They pull in and get Buck out, wheel him inside. Each breath makes Eddie feel like his lungs are collapsing.

Eddie waits until they wheel Buck into surgery to have a breakdown.

He goes into an empty patient room, borrows a pillow, and screams into it, his hands shaking, his arms, his shoulders, his legs, all of him. He screams until it hurts and then he screams a little more.

Then he finds a bathroom and splashes cold water on his face until he looks normal again. Until the red rims of his eyes are hidden.

He just lost Shannon. And he can admit, in her absence, that he was forcing himself to retain an emotion for her that he no longer felt. But that doesn’t mean that her loss doesn’t hurt, that it doesn’t stir up powerful, painful emotions. He can’t go through Shannon’s loss and what that’s done to Christopher if he also loses Buck.

And Buck— _should_ be fine. Should be. If there aren’t complications. If he didn’t lose too much blood. If he didn’t have other injuries they didn’t know about. If he didn’t have internal bleeding in his chest. If he hadn’t punctured anything. If he…

Too many ‘if’s.

He gets to the waiting room just in time to see Maddie rush in. “Howie!” She starts sprinting. “Where is he, where—”

Chimney catches her before Maddie can literally try to fly into the operating area. “Hey, hey, they’ve got him, they said it’ll be about three hours.”

Maddie clings to him and starts sobbing. Chim glances over at Eddie. “I called Carla,” he says. “Figured she might want to bring Christopher over.”

 _Because I know you’re not leaving._ Eddie hears the implication but he doesn’t pursue it. He doesn’t know what Chim thinks, or if there’s anything to think, if Chim’s just assuming that they’ll all camp out here because Buck’s family, they’re all family.

Carla arrives, so that’s a good distraction. Bobby has to give all these reports but then he’s there too, waiting, pacing. Karen comes with Denny. Athena and Michael both check up on Bobby, on all of them. Michael brings donuts.

Eddie knows he’s not the only one hurting. That out of all of them, Bobby and Maddie have the biggest right to pain, to fear. But he feels like he’s in a fucking circle of Hell. He was there for Shannon’s labor, held her hand, combed her hair out of her face. He wasn’t there for all of Christopher’s operations and that fact haunts him to this day. The fact that he can’t be there with Buck right now is—it’s making him want to claw his own skin off.

Hen asks if he wants coffee. He declines. His hands are shaking enough already.

 _I hate you._ Buck joking, grinning, smiling at him with shining blue eyes. Buck coming immediately when Eddie called him, taking care of Christopher like it was nothing. Telling Eddie he’s a good father and sounding like he believes it with his whole heart.

If Buck’s not okay…

The doctor comes in and speaks to Bobby and Carla, who follow him down the hall.

Eddie might throw up.

About twenty minutes later, Bobby returns alone. He looks at Maddie. Then at Eddie.

“He’s asleep,” Bobby says. “But he’s fine. You can go see him.”

Eddie’s moving before Bobby even finishes the sentence.

Maddie’s heels click and echo against the tiled floor and walls as they hurry down the hall, trying not to run. They turn the corner, find the right room number—

He stares.

Buck’s lying on his hospital bed, eyes closed. Bruised. Battered.

Breathing.

And under the blankets, Eddie can see two parallel ridges. No sheets lying flat. They saved the leg.

He hurries over. Carla’s sitting next to him, and Eddie watches as Buck’s eyes crack open and he sees her. Carla says something and Buck smiles, tension bleeding out of him.

Eddie reaches the doorway just as Maddie does. He pauses. Maddie’s Buck’s sister. She’s got the right of way.

Maddie smiles at him and walks over to take Buck’s hand, squeezing it. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like a truck dropped on me,” Buck jokes.

Eddie must make a noise, he must—he has to have done something—because Buck’s eyes snap to him.

“And suddenly it’s like we’re not even in the room,” Carla mutters good-naturedly.

Maddie graciously moves out of the way as Eddie walks over, feeling like he’s moving without even feeling it, and sits down on the edge of Buck’s bed.

He has no words. How can he possibly? That was one of the worst, the most terrifying, moments of his life. He’s never had anyone he cares about this much be that trapped, that hurt before.

Buck stares up at him, like he’s at a loss for words, too.

Eddie lowers himself down and presses his forehead to Buck’s. It’s all he can do.

Buck closes his eyes and lets out a light sigh, almost like contentment.

He’d say something like _don’t do that again,_ except this wasn’t Buck’s fault. This wasn’t Buck’s usual reckless bravery. It was entirely the actions of someone else (someone that Eddie will rip limb from limb if he ever gets the chance).

“Thanks,” Buck murmurs.

His hand finds Buck’s, and he interlaces their fingers. He wants to kiss him, stroke Buck’s face, beg Buck to never, ever scare him like that again.

Maddie and Carla, who are standing right there, would probably appreciate it if he didn’t.

“Anytime,” he replies instead.

He forces himself to sit up and move aside so that Maddie can join. He tries to pull away further to give her more room, but Buck’s hand goes painfully tight in his, holding him in place.

Eddie stays where he is, and Buck’s grip relaxes.

“It’s only two people at a time,” Carla warns. “I’ll be back.”

She blows Buck a kiss and Buck makes a show of catching it.

Only two at a time. Well, Maddie won’t want to leave, so Eddie will have to, in a minute.

In a minute, though.

Maddie strokes her brother’s hair out of his face. “Look at you. Thought I was done worrying about things like this when you stopped climbing trees.”

Buck smiles at her. “You know me, I gotta keep you on your toes.”

Eddie lets their soft chatter wash over him. He keeps scanning Buck’s face, Buck’s leg under the covers, hooked up into a harness so it doesn’t move. Buck’s okay. Buck’s alive. Buck’s got his leg.

He keeps swiping his thumb back and forth over Buck’s knuckles. Buck doesn’t seem to mind.

Buck yawns in the middle of a sentence and Maddie smiles. “We should let the others get a turn before you pass out again.”

She kisses Buck’s forehead and leaves. Eddie stands, but Buck doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Kinda gotta take this with me,” he points out, wiggling his fingers.

Buck squeezes his hand and stares up at him.

Fuck, Eddie wants to—so many things. Do so many things, _say_ things—but he doesn’t know _how_ and if he starts, he won’t stop, not until he’s dumped an entire carload of words onto Buck’s lap. Vulnerable things that he had to train himself to say to his own son and he sure as fuck doesn’t yet know how to say to a lover and God if he could just pay someone or pray hard enough to learn how to say it all easily he _would_ but he _can’t_ and Buck’s staring at him with his sweet soft eyes and holding Eddie’s hand and Eddie’s this close to a fucking breakdown.

He sits back down on the edge of Buck’s bed. “I need to take Christopher home.”

Buck nods. “You kissed my hand.” It sounds like he’s been ruminating on this.

Eddie’s so blindsided he fires right back. “You called me Texas.”

“Yeah,” Buck acknowledges. “I did.”

Eddie kisses the back of Buck’s hand. Closes his eyes. Buck smells like the hospital, not like himself. For some reason that makes Eddie want to cry again.

He sets Buck’s hand down and slides his fingers away. “Sleep, okay?”

He can… figure out this tangled knot of emotion tomorrow. Say something properly.

Bobby enters, followed by Hen. And that’s definitely Eddie’s cue to go. “He’s all yours.”

Buck doesn’t say anything, but Eddie can feel Buck’s gaze on him as he steps out of the room. He flexes his hand. It feels empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan Guzman can ballroom dance. I can also ballroom dance. I could not resist.


	15. Chapter 15

He wakes up in the morning and he wants to see Eddie.

Except Eddie’s at work, and then there are tests, and then Eddie’s here but Maddie’s in the room, Christopher’s in the room, someone else is always in the room. And the days keep stretching on and on until he’s out of the hospital and people are swinging by constantly and he just wants to fucking talk but he _can’t_ and the more time passes, the more he’s convinced he was fucking hallucinating.

Because Eddie would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he? He would’ve found a time to talk to him about it.

He’d thought—he’d thought Eddie had—but clearly he was out of his mind on pain meds. Of course he was. Eddie wouldn’t do something like kiss the back of Buck’s hand, that’s… not that Eddie isn’t tender like that, he is, but Eddie being tender like that with _him,_ that’s not—it was just Buck seeing what he wanted to see, making up what he wants to have happened. They must’ve given him ketamine or something, right? They had to have put him under in the ambulance. And then after—he was pretty floaty on the pain meds, and exhausted from surgery.

He must’ve imagined it.

Eddie is here, though. He’s helping Buck with his PT, putting up with Buck’s crankiness, his pissy attitude, the days Buck just doesn’t want to fucking do it, the days Buck just wants to be better _now,_ damn it.

Buck’s not going to ruin that by going hey, so, I dreamed that you held my hand and kissed it and pressed it to your face like you might actually love me back, ha ha, isn’t that funny?

That’s not going to make their friendship awkward at all.

Even when Eddie’s not there, Eddie checks up on him. He texts Buck throughout the day, and Buck’ll respond, usually with selfies that feature his absolutely hilarious captions and his excellent lighting skills.

Eddie is usually unimpressed.

 _Y’know, I keep hearing about all these people you hooked up with,_ he sends one time while Buck’s lying on the couch. _But then you send me charming photos like that and I think Hen’s lying to me._

The ‘charming photo’ in question is one of Buck literally stuffing his face full of garlic bread. Because garlic bread is delicious.

 _Excuse you,_ he texts back. _My sexting game is strong, thanks._

 _…sexting game._ He can hear Eddie’s deadpan through the phone. _God help us._

_I was a stripper working with crappy purple-tinged lighting. I know how to make myself look good._

_Your eyeliner was as thick as my finger._

_Sure it wasn’t thick as other things?_

He accompanies this text with a winking emoji and he can almost hear Eddie’s groan. Heh.

Eddie sends him a photo of himself flipping off the camera.

Oh, Eddie doesn’t think Buck can really do it, huh?

Buck slides the camera down. He’s just wearing boxers and socks, because it’s his own apartment and he can do what he wants, but he pushes the boxers down just enough to snap a photo of himself from the angle of his hips, looking down at the camera.

He sets the filter to black and white, because he’s classy, and sends the photo with the caption, _see, I know what I’m doing._

He doesn’t get a response for several minutes, which is plenty of time to start panicking that he’s done the wrong thing, but at last Eddie sends him, _you’re playing a dangerous game._

Buck’s not going to waste time playing coy. _Oh?_

Ten minutes later he gets a picture. It’s of Eddie’s torso and waist, showing off his bare chest and stomach, the soft trail of hair that leads down from his navel… to his pants, where there’s a prominent bulge, his hard cock outlined against the dark blue fabric.

Buck is blindingly hard in about two seconds flat.

 _The consequences of your actions,_ Eddie says.

 _Real fancy way to say I made you hard,_ Buck shoots back. Then he adds, because he can’t resist poking the bear a little, _didn’t realize you were so damn easy._

_You want to talk about who’s easy? Which one of us decided to fuck the other in public?_

That’s a bit confusing. _What are you talking about?_

The next text isn’t a text, or even a photo. It’s a video.

Buck clicks on it.

He promptly drops his phone in shock and has to scramble for it because holy fucking shit, that’s _them._ That’s Eddie and him, at the strip club all those years ago. Judging from the angle and what Buck remembers, it must’ve been one of Eddie’s cousins filming it.

And the video captures everything.

The fact that Buck didn’t give a proper lap dance, that he just straddled Eddie’s lap right away. The fact that they’re both hard and grinding desperately, feeling each other up like there’s no tomorrow. The fact that Eddie orgasms, glorious and filthy, just from Buck grinding down on him, and that Buck’s not all that far away from his own climax when he stands up and ends it.

He’s gripping his phone so hard he’s afraid he might crack the screen.

_You’ve kept that?_

Eddie’s response is immediate. _Got lonely sometimes._

A moment later he adds, _but if you want, I can delete it. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable._

Buck’s heart melts just a little. _Doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Kind of the opposite._

He and Eddie did well when they were in bed together. And neither of them’s been all that good at keeping it platonic between them. Maybe… maybe if he reminds Eddie how good he can be in bed, how good he can be for _Eddie_ , then Eddie will realize how good Buck can be for him in the rest of his life.

They did this backwards before. Maybe that can work for them again.

 _You saying what I think you’re saying?_ Eddie asks.

Buck sends another picture, this one of his hand cupping his clothed, hard cock. Still in black and white. Because he’s still classy. _Yeah._

 _I’m gonna need to buy condoms,_ Eddie texts him.

Buck takes a few deep breaths before replying. _I mean. I don’t need them._

He’s got a picture of his test results saved on his phone under his ‘Important Docs’ folder, and he sends it over.

Two minutes later, Eddie replies with a picture of his own.

Buck feels hot all over. Eddie got tested too.

 _I haven’t been with anyone besides you,_ Eddie adds a moment later. _But I wanted to be sure. You never know, right?_

Buck’s chest feels tight. No one besides him… that means Eddie wasn’t with Shannon. He never slept with her.

He feels—horribly, awfully, possessively pleased about that.

They’re going to do this. He’s going to be with Eddie, and he’s going to show Eddie that it’s okay to move on from Shannon, show Eddie that he’s good enough for him—

And then he chokes on blood at his own fucking party and just about everything in his life goes to shit.

* * *

He hasn’t been able to get a hold of Buck all day but that’s because he hasn’t really been trying. They were going to see a movie and then hang out, so he’s sure they’re fine, if probably annoyed by the power outages everywhere. Buck needed this, but what he didn’t need to tell Buck is that Christopher needs this, too. Needs a return to normalcy.

He’s been hoping to talk to Buck about… well. _You called me Texas._

But he couldn’t get Buck alone, and the longer time went on the more awkward it would be to bring it up, and Buck never brought it up, so he figures… Buck probably doesn’t remember. He was hopped up on pain meds and just out of surgery and before that he’d been in the worst pain of his life, it’s enough to make anyone have a bit of a blank spot.

He does want to discuss them. Together. But then Buck vomited blood right in front of him, and now he’s clearly depressed, so Eddie knows it’s not the time. He needs to help Buck get back into his right mind, his right place, and then they can discuss how Eddie’s heart tries to break the sound barrier every time he gets anywhere near Buck.

God, first the ladder truck. Then Buck vomiting up blood in front of him. Thank fuck that for once, for fucking once, Buck’s nowhere near the disaster. He’s got Chris and they’re probably holing up in Buck’s apartment playing video games. Because he really, really can’t take another moment of Buck being in danger. He can’t sit next to Buck while Buck’s once again in a hospital bed, hopped up on drugs, clinging to Eddie’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He can’t watch the man he loves nearly die again.

So thank fuck, for once, he’s not worried, he’s not even thinking about it, focused on the job—when he sees a familiar figure.

Bloodstained and covered in dirt and grime.

“Buck!”

Eddie dashes for him, turns him around—the fuck, Buck’s bleeding out of his _arm,_ he’s on blood thinners, he shouldn’t—and Buck inhales sharply as his eyes focus in. Fuck, he looks like he’s about to collapse.

“Eddie.” Buck sounds exhausted.

He pulls Buck in and hugs him tightly, strokes his fingers through the hair at the back of Buck’s head, that always soothes Buck. Fuck. Buck smells like sewer water and he’s shaking like a leaf. Eddie stops just shy of kissing Buck’s neck, his ear, this isn’t the place, not when they haven’t talked, not in front of everyone who will ask questions—

What is Buck doing this far west near the water? And where—

That’s when it hits him that Buck isn’t hugging him back.

Eddie pulls away, puts a hand to Buck’s cheek. “Hey, hey, Buck, look at me.” Is Buck about to pass out? He sure looks like it.

Buck gives him a look like a kicked puppy. It belatedly occurs to him—Christopher’s not there.

Is he sitting nearby? Getting checked out? Did Buck put him somewhere safe and then go out to help more people? Buck would do something stupidly heroic like that and wear himself out…

“Where’s Christopher?”

Buck takes Eddie’s hand, the hand that’s holding his cheek, and gently moves it down, away from him. Like he doesn’t deserve it.

And he holds up Christopher’s glasses.

They’re hanging around his neck.

Fear, horrible and black and inky, crawls up into Eddie’s stomach.

“H-he got…” Buck swallows. He sounds like he’s stabbing himself with each word, forcing them out with blood and guts. “W-we—we were a-at the beach. A-and l-listen to me, okay, I _swear_ to you…”

Eddie can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe_. If he breathes he’ll break. Buck’s crumbling in front of him, trying to get the words out and he looks like he expects Eddie to literally kill him for this—

He looks away. He can’t—he can’t hear Buck, Buck of all people, tell him—

“…I tried.” Buck’s pleading, like it’s his life on the line. “I tried, I—but I—he—Eddie I don’t know how to say it.”

He shakes his head. He can barely move even that much. _Don’t say it, for the love of God don’t say it, it’s not real so long as you don’t say it._

“H-he vanished.” Buck’s stumbling worse and worse now. “He…”

Eddie looks away again, he can’t look at Buck’s face, Buck’s flayed raw eyes, he—

Wait.

Christopher?

A woman’s carrying a boy, a boy in a red sweater who looks…

“Christopher.” He strides over, praying, hoping—

“Dad!”

Eddie’s legs give out as he takes his son, fuck, his precious, _precious_ child into his arms. Thank God, thank fucking God. He might be holding Christopher too tightly but for once he doesn’t care. He’s alive. He’s safe.

“You must be Buck,” the woman says, smiling in relief.

“Wh—no, I’m Eddie, I’m his father.” He checks Christopher for injuries but he seems fine.

The woman looks confused. “He was asking for Buck.”

Eddie pulls Christopher in again and looks over at Buck.

Buck, who’s staring at them like he’s seen a fucking miracle.

The rest of the 118 rushes over and tries talking to him, but Buck doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring at Christopher and Eddie.

He’s still staring at them as he collapses.

“Whoa.” Eddie stands up, still holding Christopher. “Um, thank you, ma’am. That’s—Buck’s his uh—my—him.” He jerks his head towards Buck, who’s now sitting down and clinging to Hen’s arm, still staring open-mouthed at Christopher and Eddie.

The woman looks over, sees Buck, and then looks back at Eddie. She nods and winks. “Ah.”

…Eddie does not have time to explain this.

“Thank you,” he repeats, and then he rushes over to Buck, who seriously looks like he might pass out.

“Buck!” Christopher reaches for him and Buck fumbles into a hug.

“Christopher.” Buck’s voice breaks and he holds on like Christopher might disappear. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I turned away, I’m so sorry—”

Eddie sees Buck’s grip go from tight to slack and quickly moves Christopher out of the way. “Hey, hey, Buck.” He grabs onto Buck’s face. “Stay with us, hey, stay with me, Buck.”

Buck slumps sideways into Eddie’s chest. “’M sorry.”

“You’re okay.” He looks up at the others. “Uh.”

“Let’s get him into the hospital,” Bobby says. “Looks like he lost blood. Christopher can watch over him, can’t you Chris?”

Christopher, ever the trooper, nods.

Eddie idly strokes Buck’s hair. Buck tucks his head underneath Eddie’s chin and Eddie can feel Buck’s body getting heavier and heavier. “’sor…” he slurs.

He turns into complete deadweight in Eddie’s arms.

Hen and Chim take over and Eddie grabs Christopher, hauling him up and hugging him again. His boy (his darling boy) wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck.

“Were you scared?” he asks, following the others into the hospital.

Christopher rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “In the beginning. There was this big wave. It was so scary. And Buck picked me up and just ran and ran with me. I didn’t know he could run so fast. But the water was faster and it was everywhere—but Buck saved me.” Christopher smiles. “He saved all these people, Daddy, he was so smart. He got us all onto a fire truck.”

“Sounds like both of you were really brave.”

“Buck said I was brave too. I don’t feel brave.”

There’s a bed assigned to Buck, and he’s hooked up to a blood bag—they’re told he’ll be fine, just needs a transfusion and some rest. Eddie follows along, holding Christopher.

“We never feel brave,” Eddie answers. “That’s what makes us brave in the first place. Doing things like staying calm or helping people even when we feel scared. That lady was brave, carrying you.”

“I was so tired from swimming,” Christopher admits, like it’s a secret. “She carried me all day. I practiced my Spanish with her.”

“That’s great, buddy. She sounds like a friend.” He needs to track that woman down and buy her a gift basket or something.

He sets Christopher down in a chair, gets him a blanket. A volunteer promises to stop by with food and water. “You stay here, okay? I’m going to call someone like Carla or Michael, to come and get you and bring you and Buck home, sound good?”

Christopher nods.

“But until then, you look after Buck, okay? Make sure he doesn’t do anything silly.”

Christopher sighs. “It’s so tough being the responsible one.”

Eddie grins. God he loves this kid, to the moon and back. “And you handle it very well.”

He kisses him and gets up. The rest of the 118 is waiting on him—there’s no way he’ll be getting a rest anytime soon, and he’s got to figure out who among their friends _isn’t_ going to be a part of handling this emergency and can get his kid and Buck home safe.

Yeah, it’s going to be a long night.

But his family is safe, and that’s what matters.

* * *

It’s three days after the tsunami and Buck’s…

‘Disassociating’ is probably the best word. He’s got a beer in front of him but he’s not drinking it.

He lost Christopher. He lost him. He failed. Whatever he and Eddie had, or might’ve had, whatever they’ve been building towards…

Eddie can’t possibly want him now. Christopher is the most important, the most precious, thing in Eddie’s life. Eddie would cross oceans, swim rapids, crawl through the earth and out the other side, to get to Christopher. He won’t ever settle for a partner who’d do less and Buck agrees with him. It’s right, it’s valid, it’s how it should be.

And he failed.

There’s a knock at the door. Probably Maddie. She knows he’s been out of it the last few days, even if he hasn’t caved into telling her why.

But when he opens the door—

“Hey, Buck!”

He stares as Christopher walks right up to him and presses in close for a hug. His hand comes around automatically to steady the kid, to press reassuringly between Christopher’s shoulder blades.

“Morning, Buck,” Eddie says, cheerful but in that tone that Buck knows well—it’s the _turn around, boy,_ tone. It’s the _don’t bother arguing_ tone.

Eddie steps around the two of them and enters the house as Buck rubs absently, wonderingly, at Christopher’s back. “H-hey, buddy.”

“So,” Eddie says, plunking a backpack onto the kitchen island. “We’ve got a morning snack, midday snack, coloring books, and a bunch of Legos.”

Eddie lowers his voice. “Between us, he hasn’t built anything that looks like anything, he just likes sticking things together.”

Eddie gestures at Christopher, who’s walking right on in and making himself at home like he owns the place. “Yeah, sit down there, buddy.”

Buck gapes.

“Here’s twenty bucks for pizza…” Eddie sets the cash down on the counter. “And if I were you, I’d eat a couple extra slices, you look like you’re wasting away to nothing.”

His gaze drops briefly down Buck’s body and then back up again, and he’s smirking like the little shit he is.

Yeah, Buck’s aware that Eddie’s got a thing for how thick he is, thanks. And normally he’d preen under the attention but _what the fuck._

“Eddie.”

“I gotta say, honestly, you being laid up is working out for me.” Eddie saunters up to him, grinning. “I mean, you’re no abuela and you’re half of Carla, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

Eddie’s dropping Christopher off with him. Chatting like nothing’s wrong, like nothing happened. Joking that Buck needs to eat more, looking at him like he’s still seriously considering eating Buck alive.

Is he in _The_ _Twilight Zone_?

“You want me to look after Christopher?”

Eddie glances fondly over at his son. “It’s easy. He’s not very fast.”

“After everything that happened?” He can’t seem to get his voice above a hoarse whisper.

Eddie snaps his gaze back to him. “A natural disaster happened.”

Buck is not going to cry, he’s not going to cry, he’s not— “I lost him, Eddie.”

“You _saved_ him.” Eddie points at the angel now perched on the coffee table. “That’s how he remembers it.”

Buck looks over. Christopher’s just happily setting up the TV, completely at home, not a care in the world.

Eddie looks back at Buck, his voice, his gaze, everything warm as hot chocolate. “Now it’s his turn to do the same for you.”

Buck looks back at Eddie. He can’t take this lifeline, he can’t, he doesn’t deserve it. “I was supposed to look out for him.”

“And what, you think you failed?”

Shame and guilt burn his throat. He looks down at the floor.

Eddie closes those last few inches between them and puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder, does that trick where he lowers and tilts his head until Buck’s forced to look him in the eye, can’t avoid his gaze, and then holds it, locks them together. His hand slides away from Buck’s shoulder, up his neck, and he brings up the other one until Buck’s face is in his hands. Buck shudders. They’ve done far more physical things with each other, and yet nearly nothing feels more intimate than when Eddie takes his face in his hands, like Buck’s his entire world.

“I’ve failed that kid more times than I can count, and I’m his father. But I love him enough to never stop trying.” Eddie’s face is dead serious, but gentle. “And I know you do, too.”

Buck swallows. Eddie’s—Eddie’s giving him so much trust, right now. Saying Buck’s level of love and commitment to Christopher is on the same level as, or near to, Eddie’s own. Buck doesn’t know what to do about that. It’s… it’s more trust, more _faith,_ than anyone’s ever given him before.

“Buck.” Eddie’s thumbs stroke his cheekbones. His eyes bore into Buck’s. There’s no escape from the relentless, determined trust in Eddie’s gaze. “There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.”

He’d probably burst into tears if he wasn’t in so much shock.

Eddie drops his hands to Buck’s chest and smooths them over him, like Buck’s shirt is wrinkled, and then he steps over to Christopher. “Hey, buddy, c’mere.”

He hugs Christopher goodbye while Buck stares, dumbfounded. “I love you. Have fun, okay? I’ll see you tonight.”

Buck keeps staring as Eddie walks back over to him. “Try going to the zoo, maybe, something inland?”

Then he puts his left hand on Buck’s right shoulder, turns him—and kisses him on the cheek.

And walks out.

Buck stares. Touches his cheek. Stares some more.

What the _fuck_ was that.

* * *

…he just kissed Buck goodbye. Casually. On the cheek. Like he used to with Shannon years ago, like they’re a longstanding couple, like it’s nothing.

…he’s so fucked.

* * *

Buck masterfully avoids discussing whatever the shit that kiss was and Eddie seems content to do the same, for about a week, until he goes to Bobby and Athena’s for dinner and learns the truth about why he hasn’t gotten his job back.

He feels stabbed in the back. Slapped in the face. And by a man he trusts, a man he loves, a man who’s like a…

Buck swallows that thought down.

He’s terrified, paralyzed, by the thought that the rest of the 118 knows. That they’re all in agreement on this. That they’re all lying to him.

He has to know.

Christopher’s asleep, but Eddie agrees to see him when Buck texts. He’s still dressed for the day when he opens the door, so clearly Buck didn’t interrupt his sleep or anything.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie takes him by the elbow and guides him inside. “What happened?”

“They—Bobby—did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“About—about the—he told them not to give me my job back,” Buck blurts out. “He lied to me, Eddie, he’s the one telling them not to—he—”

“Hey, hey, okay.” Eddie pulls him into a hug. “I didn’t know anything. Bobby doesn’t exactly put these things to a vote.”

Buck curls inward, presses his face into Eddie’s neck. Eddie lets him, he always lets him. Eddie’s so good to him, he doesn’t deserve Eddie.

Bobby thinks Buck doesn’t even deserve his job.

“What can I do?” Eddie asks. “What do you need?”

The feeling of not being good enough is choking him. He holds onto Eddie so hard he shakes. “You ever just feel so—so angry you want to just—”

“Punch something?” He can hear Eddie’s wry smile. “Trust me, yeah, I get it.”

“What do I do?” It’s a whisper.

“Well, I have a punching bag,” Eddie points out, pulling away just enough so that he can look into Buck’s face. “What do you want to do?”

_I want to kiss you._

Eddie kissed him the other day. Casually, naturally, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

He’s exhausted, but he’s restless. He has too much energy, too many thoughts. He feels helpless. He feels like nobody wants to take care of him and he loves taking care of others but God, he wants to feel like people give a damn sometimes. “I don’t know.”

He does know. But he isn’t sure if he can ask for it.

Eddie seems to read his mind, because he oh so gently, oh so slowly, pushes Buck back until his shoulders hit the wall. Then he takes a step in. His mouth is barely an inch from Buck’s.

“You want me to take care of you?”

Buck nods. Please, _please,_ he’s so angry and hurt and he wants to stop feeling like shit all the time, he wants to stop feeling like he’s not good enough.

Eddie groans, deep in his chest, and then they’re kissing like it’s the end of the fucking world.

Buck grabs onto Eddie’s hips and holds on, arches, grinds, sucks on Eddie’s tongue, please, please, _please_ —

“Whoa, whoa, okay, hey.” Eddie yanks him forward and then starts moving Buck down the hall. “I’ve gotcha, slow down.”

Buck whines. He wants it hard and fast. He wants to fight, he wants to claw, he’s so fucking hurt and angry and he wants…

“I know, I know.” Eddie kisses him again and again, gets them into his bedroom, closes and locks the door. “I’ve got you.”

He pushes him down, nips at Buck’s skin all over as he undresses him, brings out the teeth because yeah, Eddie’s got a major oral fixation, but he knows that Buck likes it. He pins Buck’s wrists over his head and grinds against him, the head of his cock catching against Buck’s rim just enough that it’s a tease, and Buck writhes and bites back and hisses for _more, more, more._

They’ve never been quite this rough before, except for arguably that one time on the kitchen floor in Buck’s apartment, way back in the day. But Eddie gets that Buck doesn’t want gentle, that Buck needs to get this out, and he matches him, grip for grip, mark for mark.

Eddie grabs the lube and then pauses, holds up a condom. “You sure you…”

Buck nods. “You’re clean. I’m clean.”

He just wants skin on skin. No barriers.

Eddie puts the condom down and slicks up his fingers, driving two into Buck at once, flirting with that burn of _too much_ and Buck hisses, pleased, wraps a leg around Eddie to give him a better angle.

“That’s it,” Eddie encourages, kisses Buck’s throat. “Too bad we gotta be quiet, I bet you’d really howl for me tonight.”

Buck scratches his nails down Eddie’s shoulders in warning. He’s not gonna be toyed with, not now, not when he’s so keyed up and aching and furious.

“Fuck me up all you want,” Eddie informs him, like it’s a promise, a present, and Buck’s eyes sting.

Eddie kisses it all away.

Two fingers become three, and Buck makes his noises around Eddie’s tongue as he’s fucked ruthlessly, his prostate hit every time, until he’s so close to orgasm he can taste it.

Eddie’s hand wraps around the base of his cock and squeezes hard, halting his building climax, and Buck nearly bites his own tongue in half. He writhes desperately, kisses all over Eddie’s face, no, c’mon, c’mon please…

“Shhh.” Eddie soothes him, pets his hair. “Not yet, gotta wear you out. Said I’d take care of you.”

He did, Eddie did promise, and Eddie always takes care of him. Buck subsides and lets Eddie start again, build him back up, until he’s so close, right on the edge—and cut off once more.

He’s trembling from head to toe. “Eddie—”

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises. He kisses Buck nice and deep, his three fingers seated right up against that perfect spot, and Buck gives himself over, fucks himself down onto those fingers, squirms on them, until he’s panting into Eddie’s mouth more than anything and seeing stars behind his eyes.

Eddie’s back has to be a mess of red marks, but Buck’s fingers are finally getting weaker. He’s not scratching as much, more just digging his fingers in. And there’s a _lot_ to dig into. Eddie’s bulked up big time, helping Buck with his PT, Buck’s struggling to fit his hand around Eddie’s biceps and while he misses Eddie’s longer hair, he can’t complain about this change at all, loving the wall of solid muscle on top of him, the broad muscles he can sink his teeth into (and okay, so maybe he’s developed a little bit of an oral fixation himself).

“That’s it. Look at you, being good for me.” Eddie praises him, slides his fingers out and his cock in, and they both shudder. Eddie’s hard cock in him is nothing new, but without the condom it’s all soft, slick, velvety skin that he couldn’t feel before, and Buck melts.

“Good,” Eddie whispers, and he starts thrusting, and oh God, Buck’s not sure how much longer he can hold on.

He’ll try, though, because Eddie asked him to and he wants to be good and he wants someone for once to fucking see how hard he’s trying and to reward him for it.

“Good, good, _good_ boy,” Eddie moans, his voice muffled where it’s buried in Buck’s neck. “Always, so good for me.”

He kisses Buck’s shoulder, his neck, back up to his mouth, and Buck feels like maybe, maybe Eddie wants him the way Buck wants him. Maybe Eddie’s praising him like this not just because Buck asked him to but because Eddie wants to.

He fucks Buck until Buck feels like a puddle of goo, until he’s so sure a stiff gust of wind against his cock will make him come, so long it feels like he might see dawn peeking out from behind the curtains. Eddie’s relentless, shoving all of that restless, horrible energy out of Buck until nothing’s left but desire.

Eddie presses his mouth to the bolt of Buck’s jaw, and his hand wraps around Buck’s cock to stroke it. “You can let go now,” he promises.

Buck has to muffle his obscene noises in Eddie’s arm as he comes, as the world goes white and sparkly. _Fuck._ He hasn’t felt that drained from an orgasm in years.

Not since Mexico, in fact.

Eddie soothes him, cleans them up, runs his fingers through Buck’s hair. “Feeling better?”

Buck nods. His voice is a little hoarse. He has to clear it a few times. “Thanks. For that. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do.”

He might’ve done something really stupid, in the state he was in. Like call that slimy lawyer.

“I’m always happy to help,” Eddie says in his customer service voice, like he’s talking to a woman who got her cat stuck in a tree.

Buck rolls his eyes but fails to hide his smile. “I know crazy sex isn’t exactly the reasonable reaction.”

“Better than running off and starting a fight, right?” Eddie points out.

…yeah.

He feels a little sick. _I’m always happy to help. Better than starting a fight._

Fuck.

Buck sits up. He should get dressed. He should go. _Better than starting a fight._ Eddie’s helping Buck out. That’s all it is. He’s fucking Buck so that Buck doesn’t go and do something stupid about Bobby. So that Buck doesn’t cause problems.

“I need to, um, get going.”

Eddie seems surprised, watching Buck leave. “…okay.”

 _You kissed me on the cheek. You kissed my hand._ The accusing statements burn in his chest like sticks of dynamite and he wants to throw them out into the world before they explode inside and kill him, but he remembers Abby.

How she kissed him and held him. How she’d talk with him on the phone all the time. How he could make her laugh.

Abby had been affectionate with him like that. And he’d fallen in love and made the mistake of thinking she loved him back and look at where it got him.

He can’t ask. He can’t ask and get Eddie’s pity in response. He can’t step out onto that rickety bridge, jump off that diving board, not again.

“Let me know what you can find out from the others,” he says. “About the whole job thing.”

Eddie’s got a look on his face that’s oddly blank. “Yeah. Okay.”

He kind of wants Eddie to stop him as he leaves, wants to see that Eddie does feel the same way, that he’s going to fight for him, even though he knows it’s not going to happen and it’s not fair to Eddie to hope for it.

He walks out the door and sure enough, Eddie doesn’t come after him.

* * *

One week after he fucks Buck so thoroughly he’s surprised either of them can still walk, Eddie punches a guy in the parking lot over a handicapped spot.

He really shouldn’t do this, not after Buck dropped by and had sex with him and then left before the afterglow had even finished, but… he calls Buck to bail him out.

There are a lot of messy feelings where Buck’s concerned. One of them guilt. Guilt that he lied to Shannon about loving her while he was really in love with Buck, guilt that he was with one person while pining for someone else, guilt that he’s moving on so quickly.

Another’s anger. Anger at himself, at Shannon, at Buck. Buck just _left_ the other day. He came over, asked Eddie for help, Eddie gave it to him, and he _left._

What the fuck.

But there’s nobody else that he trusts as much as Buck, at the end of the day. Buck’s his best friend (which is another part of the messy feelings) and so… he asks for a bailout.

And Buck shows up without question.

“Y’know, out of the two of us, I didn’t think you would be the one getting thrown in jail,” Buck points out as they walk to his car.

“The guy wasn’t really handicapped. He was whining about his knee.” And implying Eddie’s son isn’t really handicapped, which. That just makes his blood boil like nothing else.

And okay, so maybe he’s been cranky and grouchy lately. Maybe he’s got some anger he’s not really wanting to think about. But it’s wrong for him to be… it’s not… he can’t think about it. That’s all there is to it. He can’t.

“It’s a Monday thing,” Buck says sagely.

Eddie squints at him. He’s heard about Buck’s superstitions from the others. “…a Monday thing?”

“Yeah. Crazy stuff always seems to happen to us on Mondays, haven’t you noticed?”

“Buck…” He’s stupidly in love with this man. “…that’s not a thing.”

“It’s so a thing! The earthquake was on a Monday! The tsunami was on a Monday!”

“So there’s a giant conspiracy where crazy natural disasters happen on Mondays.”

“Yes!”

Eddie pauses as they reach Buck’s car. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

Buck gives him an _aren’t I the cutest_ grin. “Is it working?”

“Don’t make me spank you.”

The words fly out of him before he can even think about what he’s saying and Buck’s immediately eyes immediately go black, his mouth falling open a little.

He watches Buck swallow, tracks the movement with his eyes. “I mean.” Buck shrugs. “It’s a better alternative to fighting assholes in parking lots, right?”

That’s how they end up furiously making out in the backseat of Buck’s jeep.

He knows this is a study in masochism. Buck showed up at his house last week, fucked him, and then left right afterwards before Eddie could even offer to have Buck stay the night. Eddie’d had a whole—a whole thing planned. Okay, so Buck showing up at his doorstep was a surprise but he was going to ask Buck to stay, and then order something for breakfast so Buck wouldn’t be coerced into cooking by Christopher, and then he was going to… they were going to talk.

Except. Buck ran away like he was on fire.

So.

He really shouldn’t be doing this now, sucking on Buck’s tongue and getting stubble burn, but fuck, he’s weak and he’s angry and he’s alone and he can’t help himself, he wants Buck too fucking much, he wants him any way that he can get him.

Buck wraps a leg around Eddie’s waist and grinds up against him and oh God, _yes,_ that angle’s perfect. Eddie gets his hand around to Buck’s ass to keep him in place, hold him steady, and rolls his hips. Buck bites down on Eddie’s lip, tugs, and fire shoots right through Eddie, molten, golden, and he speeds up. Buck moans helplessly, his nails digging into Eddie’s shoulders.

“Shhh.” Eddie kisses messily along his jaw.

“Can’t—can’t—please, Eddie, _please_ —” Buck’s so fucking pretty when he begs but they’re in a goddamn parking lot. Someone could literally walk by and realize what they’re doing at any moment. In broad daylight.

Of course, given that the first time he met Buck they fucked in front of his cousins… Eddie’s not sure he can really judge himself all that much.

He slides two fingers into Buck’s mouth and Buck moans around them, sucking, his eyelids fluttering. That’ll help keep him quiet—and fuck, it’s a damn good picture, too.

Eddie manages to finally get Buck’s fly open and slides his hand in. The angle’s shit so his wrist is going to ache for the rest of the day but he doesn’t care when he’s got Buck’s thick, warm cock in his hand, weeping with slick already. He uses the precome sliding from the slit to smooth the way and starts stroking him as he continues to grind against Buck’s thigh.

God, yeah, this is better than fighting, better than anything, his frustration and energy and need for control all poured into this. He doesn’t have to think about his anger, or the lack of closure, or all the things unsaid. He doesn’t have to think about how he lied.

There’s just Buck, whining underneath him, taking everything Eddie gives him.

Buck claws at his back as Eddie strokes his cock, his desperate noises trapped by Eddie’s fingers in his mouth. There’s a tiny vicious little part of Eddie that dares anyone to peer in through the car window, that dares them to come and see. _He’s_ making Buck fall apart like this, him and no one else. He’s got Buck so desperate they couldn’t even wait to get home.

He bites down on Buck’s shoulder, drags his cock against Buck’s body again and again, groaning at the sparks that fly through his body. His hand flies up and down Buck’s shaft, squeezing, swiping his thumb over the head, and Buck comes, his eyes just about rolling back into his head.

It only takes Eddie a few thrusts to follow. His pants are a fucking mess but he doesn’t care, not when he has Buck’s whimpers echoing in his ears, Buck’s nails digging into his skin, and Buck’s warm, solid body beneath his.

He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, withdrawing his fingers from Buck’s mouth, and is rewarded with Buck pressing his lips to Eddie’s temple.

_I need to tell you I’m in love with you. I need to tell you. I’m in love with you._

He pushes himself up, stares down at Buck. In the backseat of a car at the jail parking lot, yeah, not exactly the most romantic time. And he fucked up first, giving into Buck the other night, fucking Buck because it was the only way he knew how to help Buck deal with his emotions instead of telling Buck how he feels.

He’s not sure now is the right time. But is there ever a right time? He doesn’t know.

Buck grins lazily up at him. Wiggles his eyebrows and his hips. “Better than running off and starting a fight, right?”

It’s what he said to Buck the other night, and Eddie feels sick. Was Buck just… doing this to return the favor? Because that was what Eddie did to help him and now Buck’s reciprocating?

Eddie sits back on his knees. “Yeah. And cheaper than therapy.”

Buck grins. “You can say that again.”

He sits up and clambers over to open the glove compartment, passing Eddie some napkins to use to clean up. “You ever…” Buck’s voice is low and serious. “You know that if you ever feel that way, seriously, you can come to me. Even if you really do want to fight, we can put some gloves on and go into the ring. Whatever you want.”

Eddie never wants to hit Buck. If he spars with him, Eddie wants it to be for fun, not because he wants a moving punching bag. But he understands what Buck’s offering.

“Thanks.” He wishes his anger with… shit, was something that could go away after just one good round of sex.

“Besides,” Buck adds, a smile on his lips but darkness in his eyes, “not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

…about that.


	16. Chapter 16

Buck is not pleased that Eddie’s dragging him to the station to talk to Bobby. He tells Eddie as much at least a dozen times on their way there.

Fortunately, Eddie is by now well-versed in how to get Buck to do things.

“Bobby!” he says cheerfully, his hand literally in Buck’s collar to keep Buck from yanking away and locking himself in the car. “You got a minute?”

Everyone in the station wisely scatters, except for Chim and Hen, who grin like wolves that just caught scent of a wounded deer.

Bobby raises an eyebrow but allows Eddie to lead him (and drag Buck) into his office and close the door.

“I’m here against my will,” Buck states immediately.

“Look.” Eddie at last releases him. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here. But I have a feeling this isn’t just because he’s your boss—” He jerks his thumb at Bobby, looking at Buck, “—and he’s your employee, okay?” He switches to look at his captain. “Bobby, Buck’s hurt because you’re the one who arranged not to have him come back and he feels like you lied about it. Buck, I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that you throwing up _blood_ in front of us had something to do with Bobby’s choices. Talk it out. I’m going to go eat a sandwich.”

He feels like a teenager all over again, making his sisters settle whatever issue they were arguing about this time (usually one of them stealing something that belonged to the other).

Chim and Hen, of course, come up as he’s making his sandwich in the station kitchen. “You playing happy families now?” Chim asks.

“C’mon, we knew they had to do this sometime. Someday Bobby’s going to say ‘well sue me’ and Buck’s going to be an idiot and try to actually do that.”

He’s actually not sure Buck _could_ sue in this situation. This is what the firefighter’s union is for, after all. But he’d rather not let the union or anyone else get involved at all when this is clearly something personal between the two men.

Buck and Bobby are in there for an hour.

And they only raise their voices twice, that’s a victory.

Fortunately they don’t get any calls. Chim and Hen lose interest because, well, yeah they’re nosy little fuckers, everyone in this station is including Eddie himself, but there’s a difference between some friendly eavesdropping and poking at each other versus outright listening in on a private conversation.

Buck finally emerges while everyone else is downstairs. His eyes are red and his gaze is downcast.

Fuck, he looks like a kicked puppy. Eddie can’t possibly stay annoyed at him for the whole… running out the other night thing, not when Buck looks like that.

Yeah, he’s aware he’s a sucker.

He walks over and Buck folds at once, ducking his head down the way he always does when they hug, like he’d bury his face in Eddie’s chest if their heights weren’t so damn similar.

“You all good?” he asks, because he can’t tell if this is cathartic crying or got-chewed-out crying.

Buck nods into his shoulder. “Yeah. Um. Just a lot.”

“Eddie?” Bobby sticks his head out. “Can you come in here a second?”

If Bobby thinks anything about the fact that Eddie and Buck are hugging in the middle of the couch area like the world’s ending, he doesn’t show it.

“Yup, coming.” Eddie slides his hands down Buck’s arms as he pulls back, squeezing his hands briefly before going in to follow after Bobby.

Bobby’s face is a bit pink. Eddie politely does not mention it. “So, did you guys… talk through the whole issue?”

Bobby clears his throat. “It was… pointed out to me by a couple of people that I might have gone about this whole thing the wrong way. And so I explained to Buck that it was about trying to keep him safe, not about any lack of faith in him. And Buck… ah, understands that.”

“Good, good.” Eddie pauses. “Uh. So why am I in here?”

It’s probably for insubordination.

Bobby shrugs and leans back against his desk. “Buck let a few things slip.”

…oh shit. “Captain, I promise, it started before we were coworkers.”

Bobby gives him a weird look. “I was talking about punching a guy in the parking lot, what are you talking about?”

“…punching a guy in the parking lot too, absolutely.”

Bobby gives him one of those gently piercing looks that remind Eddie of his high school English teacher. He was always shit with words but he adored her and did his damn best in that class. Every single paper came back covered in red ink, but she gave him a C he didn’t deserve because she knew he worked his ass off even if trying to put his thoughts down on paper was only slightly easier than pulling his own teeth.

“That’s not like you.” Bobby nods at the chair. “Take a seat.”

Eddie sits. Bobby sits too.

“It was nothing. I just—needed to blow off some steam, things got a little out of control.”

Bobby gives him a look that’s far too knowing. “That’s what this is about, right? You’re the guy who always keeps it together, no matter what life throws at you, you shake it off and keep moving forward.”

Well yeah, of course he does. “Lots of people have it worse.”

Bobby sighs. “Eddie, I just don’t want you to think you have to lose everything before you can allow yourself to feel anything.”

His eyes sting and he has to force himself to keep holding Bobby’s gaze. “Christopher needs me to be in control. I’m the only parent he’s got left. And I can’t let him down again.”

“When did you let him down before?”

“When did I not let him down?” Eddie counters. “I wasn’t there when he was a baby. Stayed away too long and it broke his mother. Shannon ran away and…”

His throat goes tight. “…I couldn’t stop her.”

Bobby keeps staring at him, and Eddie’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing or the wrong thing at this point. What even is right and wrong?

“I couldn’t bring her back home. So I brought him here. And I let her back into his life.”

And there it is. The reason he’s angry, the reason he can’t—he can’t yell at Shannon, he can’t tell her all the things he wants to, he can’t say _hey go fuck yourself for what you did, for jerking me around_. She’s dead. He can’t ever get that closure. He can’t ever say the things—the things he shoved down for so long. Trying to do what everyone told him was right. Trying to be the good partner, the good man. And now it’s all coming up at last like a volcano and mingling with his guilt and his grief and he can’t fucking stop it and _she’s not here_.

“That was what Christopher wanted,” Bobby points out.

Eddie lets out a laugh that he knows is laced with sarcasm. “I knew better. She already left once, broke his heart. I was so afraid she was going to do it again.” He shrugs. “She did.”

“…she died, Eddie.”

Nobody knows this. Not his parents. Not his abuela. Not a single one of his sisters. Not Buck. He’s kept her secret this whole time.

“Yeah, after she told me she wanted—she didn’t want to be with. Us.”

He’s losing it, he can feel the tears coming and his chest is tight and he can’t fucking stop them. “And I’m still mad. How stupid is that? I’m angry at a dead person.”

If he could just—just tell her how he felt, just fucking once, instead of shoving it all down and letting his guilt talk for him—

“And I’m mad at myself. Because I forgave her. For everything. And it wasn’t enough.” He swallows. “I wasn’t enough.”

He’s never enough, for anyone. He’s never the one chosen.

Bobby stands up and pulls Eddie to his feet, into a hug, and Eddie fucking breaks. Hard. He’s shaking so badly he can’t quite breathe and Bobby has to coax him into inhaling, holding it, then exhaling until he stops hiccupping.

“I wondered,” Bobby admits quietly, passing Eddie some tissues. “When you were dragging Buck in here and making us talk… if you weren’t trying to give us what you can’t get with Shannon.”

Eddie wipes at his eyes and blows his nose. “I wasn’t really thinking about that. I was more thinking about how wound up Buck was the other night when he told me about it.” He’s careful with his words, since he doesn’t want to give too much away. “He showed up late, looked like he was ready to claw out of his own skin. He thought that you had no faith in him. That he wasn’t good enough. And I… I know how that feels.”

“I’m glad he has you to come to,” Bobby replies. His voice is measured, but in that tone Bobby gets when he’s opening the door to further conversation.

Hell no, Eddie is slamming that door shut. “Yeah. He’s my best friend.”

Bobby gives Eddie a very long, slow blink. “Right. Well, I want to introduce you to a therapist I know.”

…so if he sprints for the door, will he make it before Bobby tackles him. “Um.”

“Don’t give me that look. Frank is the best. And frustration like this, that feeling of betrayal, it doesn’t just go away after one talk, Eddie. You need to work through this. And since Shannon isn’t here, someone like Frank is the next best thing.”

The last thing he wants to do is go to a shrink. He doesn’t exactly have fond memories of the ones the military had him see after his incident. And, well. He knows that a lot of the ideas he was raised with were full of shit but it’s hard to shut off the voice that whispers that _real men aren’t soft, real men just keep going, you don’t need to talk about your stupid feelings, for crying out loud._

But Christopher was having nightmares about Shannon and tried to hide it from him. He felt like he had to hide it. And Eddie never, ever wants his son to become like his father. He wants Christopher to stay soft, to stay sweet. What happened to Eddie won’t ever happen to Christopher, not so long as Eddie has any say in it.

And that means he has to lead by example.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and repeats it. “Okay.”

Bobby hugs him again.

* * *

Christopher wants to spend Christmas with his father. Of course he does. What kid wouldn’t? Especially if Eddie was their dad. Eddie’s the best dad. He bakes Christmas cookies with Christopher, and lets Christopher dictate how they’re going to decorate the house and where to put the ornaments on the tree.

Buck’s aware that Eddie himself isn’t super gung-ho on Christmas. It’s a mixed bag for him, the love of family traditions and fond childhood memories mixed with the disappointment of Christmases as an adult, the times he wasn’t there because he was overseas, the ones after Shannon left. But he’s making it as magical as possible for his son, the way he works to make everything magical for Christopher.

And they have to work. Buck as well as Eddie.

The disappointment in Christopher’s eyes is tangible.

Buck can’t let that happen. He can’t let Eddie go without his kid on this day, he can’t let Christopher be without his father, not when it’s the kid’s first Christmas since losing his mom.

So he takes care of it.

Understanding lights up Eddie’s face as he takes his son into his arms. He’s holding onto Christopher like he can’t quite believe he’s real, and he’s staring at Buck with a look of such awe that Buck can feel his face lighting up with heat, blushing in a way that being nearly-naked on a pole could never induce.

He hasn’t slept with Eddie since the back of the car. He downloaded the video of the two of them, saved it into his phone, and he’s watched it more times than he can count. But Eddie’s been going to therapy and really working through his shit over the last year and Buck… doesn’t want to intrude on that. Eddie’s grieving his life partner, Buck’s not going to complicate that process. Not when he knows for himself how hard it can be to open up.

But God, when Eddie looks at him like that, he wants to throw caution to the wind and _beg_. Even if he knows he’s settling for less than he should, settling just for sex when he wants so much more.

Bobby comes up to him as he’s helping to clean up the party. “That really was kind, what you did.”

“Of course.” He smiles. “I’m glad I could help everyone be with their families.”

“Everyone?” Bobby asks.

Buck nearly drops the plate he’s washing but catches it in time. “Yeah, I think everyone had a good time.”

He and Bobby are good, now. They needed to have that talk. There were a lot of things said and then taken back, said and then regretted, but eventually they got to the heart of it all—the fact that Buck felt Bobby didn’t trust him, and that Bobby was scared for Buck’s life. It wasn’t easy, though. Looking at someone and telling them _I really crave your validation and I hated thinking you didn’t believe in me._

It was a shock to get the response of _I was scared you’d push yourself too hard and die, I was trying to protect you._

Maybe he needs to start assuming the best in people instead of thinking they distrust him as much as he distrusts himself.

Bobby starts drying the dishes. “Christopher seemed over the moon.”

“I’m glad. He needed his dad this year, y’know? After Shannon.”

“Mm. Yes he does.” Bobby puts the dishes into the cupboard. “Buck. How long are you going to keep pretending you two aren’t together?”

Buck jerks and bangs his elbow on the inside of the kitchen sink. “What do you mean?”

Bobby gives him a warm, sympathetic look. “I get that you two want to be private about it. It’s not any of our business. But I am your boss and you are coworkers and so I need to know.”

“I—we—” Buck’s at a genuine loss for words. “What makes you think we’re together?”

“You just organized a Christmas party so Eddie could see his son, Buck.”

“That’s just being friends.”

“You two arrive together. You leave together. You’re always sending us pictures of the two of you having a meal together. Eddie’s lock screen on his phone is you with Christopher. He dragged you in here to talk to me and then comforted you afterwards. We’re pretty sure you two share clothes.”

“…we don’t share clothes.” He’s pretty sure he’d know if they did.

“I guess you two just dress alike, then,” Bobby says in the tone of someone who doesn’t believe you but is humoring you anyway.

“Bobby, we’re not… we’re just friends.” Friends who’ve had sex several times. Friends who met and had a passionate affair for less than a week then didn’t see or speak to each other for nearly three years.

“Are you sure?” Bobby replies. “Because you don’t act like it.”

Buck has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Or, well, he knows what it means for him. But there’s another part of the equation here. “How do we act, then? Because I’m just being Eddie’s friend.”

“Have you told him that?” Bobby asks. “Because he’s not treating you like a friend, Buck. He’s treating you like a partner. If you don’t feel the same way you need to make that clear.”

“Did Eddie tell you he sees me as a partner?” Buck counters.

“He didn’t have to.” Bobby’s got a small smile on his face. “Everyone can see how he looks at you, how he treats you.”

He claps Buck on the shoulder. “Talk to him, okay? For what it’s worth, I think you make him happy, and I think he makes you happy.”

Buck watches Bobby’s retreating back. _Everyone can see how he looks at you. How he treats you._

Is Bobby right? Does Eddie—but no. Eddie would’ve told him, right?

…right?

It’s one thing to have his sister reassure him that it’ll be okay after he confesses his little, ah, history with Eddie. It’s another to have his boss, his father figure, a man who’s overall observant and very compassionate, tell him out of the blue that he thinks he and Eddie are dating.

Is there something that Buck’s been missing?

* * *

Eddie’s finally starting to feel like he’s getting somewhere with therapy. Or, rather, he’s getting to a place where he can talk without Frank having to constantly hold his hand through every single sentence.

The problem is, the fucker’s smart.

He’s just wrapped up explaining the skateboard incident and how Buck came up with an accessible skateboard for Christopher to ride when Frank lays out his traitorous breadcrumbs.

“It sounds like Buck knows how to be a support for you,” Frank notes.

“Yeah.” Eddie nods vigorously, because he’s an idiot who doesn’t see a pit trap when it’s right in front of him. “I mean, right away, with getting Carla for me so I could get Christopher into the right school. He helps me be a better father without taking over. And I know others mean well, but it made me feel so fucking helpless. Pathetic, almost, you know? Like people had to do my job for me because I couldn’t do it myself. But Buck just…”

“He respects your position in Christopher’s life.”

“Yes! I’m his dad. That’s never changing. I want Christopher to have a big family, to feel supported, but I don’t want—my parents tried to take over from me and shove me out. And Shannon…” He slumps back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t know. I could never do anything right. But she ran away, she didn’t… I don’t know. Buck just helps me be Christopher’s dad and he doesn’t judge me or criticize me.”

“So it sounds like you feel Buck is being a better partner for you than Shannon.”

“Ye—” Eddie freezes, but it’s too late.

The truth’s out.

Frank, the bastard, smiles politely.

Eddie reminds himself that flipping off his therapist is probably not the mature thing to do.

Frank waits. Eddie waits.

Frank is better at waiting than Eddie is.

“Buck… uh. Buck’s my best friend. And I… I mean, I can’t date, what would people think?”

“Are you worried about homophobia?”

“What? No. I’m worried about—Shannon died not even a year ago, and I’m dating someone else? Everyone would…” Eddie hunches his shoulders, already feeling the words landing like blows.

Frank tilts his head. “It sounds like you’re greatly concerned with what people say about you. How they view you.”

“Yeah, well. Yeah. I mean it’s their fault I’m in this situation in the first place.”

“What situation is that?”

“A liar.” Eddie looks away. Swallows. “They made me a liar.”

“In what way?” Frank’s tone is eternally patient.

“Everyone told me to be with her. To give her a second chance. And… and so I did. I tried. I tried so hard. I forgave her after everything. And the whole time—I was in love with—with someone else.”

Frank doesn’t ask who. He probably doesn’t have to. It’s obvious.

“Eddie, whose idea was it to come to Los Angeles?”

Eddie looks back at him. “Mine.”

“And whose idea was it to become a firefighter?”

“Mine.” He pauses. “I see what you’re getting at but I’ve made shitty decisions, too.”

“We all have. My question is, when you’ve trusted your gut, have things worked out?”

“…yeah.”

“And when you went against your gut and listened to others, how did it go?”

“…not great.”

“Then why are you letting yourself care so much about what others will think when you know what your gut is saying? Why aren’t you trusting yourself?”

“I…” He doesn’t know.

“You know how I hate to give suggestions,” Frank says. “But we’ve talked a lot about how Shannon hurt you. I’m proud of the progress you’ve made in letting it go. But I would like to ask—is some of your anger not at her but at yourself?”

Eddie mulls that over. “I’m always angry at myself.”

“Why? You’re a good father, a hard worker…”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, I’m a good father who fucks up every day. I’m just trying my best. I can’t—I fucked up so much with Christopher when he was a baby. And I fucked things up with Shannon. And I fucked things up with Buck. I never told him how I felt and I went back to Shannon and how—how fucking stupid was I? How stupid—to give up someone like him, to go back to someone who’d proven she’d just cut and run—”

“It sounds like you feel you don’t deserve to be with the person who makes you happy.”

Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I…” His voice dies.

Frank glances at the clock on the wall. “We’re out of time, but Eddie, if I can give you something to think about until next week—we’ve spent a lot of time in these sessions discussing your mistakes. That’s a big part of therapy. But the other part is where you learn to build yourself back up again, and I think it’s time we started on that. I’d like you to think, this week, about the things that you deserve instead of the things you need to fix. Because you do deserve good things, Eddie. Including Buck, if you want him.”

Those words follow Eddie the entire way home.

That night, he tucks Christopher into bed. “Hey, buddy, can I ask you a question?”

Christopher snuggles in. “Sure.”

He strokes his son’s hair. “If, uh… would it be all right if… you know that your mom is always going to have a special place in your heart. And I don’t ever want to change that for you. Or have anyone take her place. Because she was special, and nobody can ever replace someone else.”

Christopher nods, his eyes big and soft.

“But I was wondering if you would be okay… if maybe I found someone to… love like that? Someone who’d be in our lives in kind of the same way?”

Christopher, to Eddie’s surprise, looks away guiltily.

“Buddy? Hey.” He turns his son’s face back to him. “Talk to me, okay? What’s wrong? You can tell me anything.”

Christopher shrugs, playing with the blankets. “If you dated someone, would they eat with us? And watch movies and play video games with us?”

“Well, sure, if you were okay with that. And I won’t bring anyone in that you aren’t okay with, Christopher.”

“I want you to be happy too, Dad.” Christopher looks extremely solemn. “But if someone does all those things with us… what about Buck?”

Eddie blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… he might feel left out. And I’d miss him. And I thought…” Christopher looks embarrassed. “That maybe you two were… because he’s over so often and he makes you smile and laugh and you’re always touching.”

Of course, at almost nine years old, that’s all it takes to put two people together as dating.

“…would you be okay if we were?” he asks.

Christopher doesn’t quite smile, but his eyes light up. He nods.

Eddie finds himself grinning in relief. “I guess I’ll have to think about that, then.”

Christopher reaches up and pats Eddie’s cheek in one of his moments of solemnity that always make Eddie’s chest ache with love. “I want you to be happy,” he repeats.

This kid’s going to be the death of him, but in the best way. He squeezes Christopher’s hand. “I’m trying. I promise.”

Maybe he deserves to try.

Maybe he deserves to go for what makes him happy, to do what he _wants_ instead of just what his upbringing, society, tells him is right, maybe he shouldn’t do only what he feels he has to, what he feels he owes others, but what actually helps him fucking feel better about himself—

And if he _does_ , then he wants to do it right, he wants—he and Buck started out fucking each other in a strip club of all things—and so he’s got to do this the right way, instead of just falling into bed with Buck again, he’s got to—

He’s still trying to figure it out when forty feet of mud collapses on him.


	17. Chapter 17

The only reason Buck doesn’t collapse when he sees Eddie is that Eddie’s collapsing, and he has to hold Eddie upright.

He’s alive. He’s okay.

He’s also fucking freezing.

Buck immediately helps Eddie start stripping in the ambulance, wrapping him in blankets and drying him off. Hen and Chim start checking his vitals as they drive, but Eddie’s still shivering. Fuck he’s still shivering. And Buck knows he needs more, more heat, more warmth, and he wants to wrap himself around Eddie and hold him forever and ever and never let him go. He can’t ever let go.

Chim and Hen keep asking questions, making observations, and Buck just wants to cut them off and scream. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ is beating a tattoo against the inside of his ribcage, it’s actively burning through his skin as it tries to force itself out of his throat, and he feels like he’s choking on all the water Eddie just swam through.

He settles for taking Eddie’s hands in his and rubbing them to warm them.

He should probably say something to Eddie. Eddie talked to him while they were in the ambulance when it was Buck who’d been in trouble, when their positions were reversed. Eddie had reassured him. But it feels like all of his voice was used up screaming for Eddie when the ground collapsed, as he’d dug and dug and dug with his bare hands, his bare fucking hands, God, and he would’ve kept digging too—

He’s never had a panic attack like that before. He’s always sort of thought of them as… the way they show in movies? You just start hyperventilating. But that’s not what it feels like at all. He can’t even describe it. It’s like his brain had shut down and simultaneously kicked into overdrive but he couldn’t connect to the overdrive, he was fixated on one fucking thought and his body just went into Code Black without his permission and he was detached from it all and yet he’s never felt more painfully, horribly connected to every single painful beat of his heart.

For a second, he thought Eddie was dead, and for that second, he was too.

Eddie stays silent for most of it. Answers Hen and Chim’s questions. And doesn’t complain about Buck still holding onto his hands, even though Buck’s probably doing jack shit for his circulation at this point. It’s just that Buck can’t let go.

It’s one thing to know that you love someone. It’s another thing entirely to realize what would snap inside of you if you lost them.

They’re about ten minutes out from the hospital when Eddie slumps to the side and rests his head on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck?”

“Yeah?” He stops rubbing Eddie’s hands but he keeps holding them.

“Christopher.” Eddie’s voice is a croak. “He’ll be waiting for me. I gotta stay overnight in the… hospital. Can you stay with him?”

“Of course.” Eddie just nearly fuckin’ died and he’s thinking about his son. When is Eddie _not_ thinking about his son? Buck would bet everything he has that it was Christopher that gave Eddie the strength to get out from under forty feet of dirt. “Do you want me to bring him to you?”

Eddie shakes his head. He’s so cold, and his head is so heavy. Buck’s shaking with holding himself back from wrapping his arms around him. “No, no, he shouldn’t—Shannon, then you—he can’t see me like this.”

“Okay. I’ll just keep an eye on him.”

He might be imagining it, but he thinks he feels Eddie’s lips brush against his neck. “Thanks.”

And of course that’s when the fucker passes out.

* * *

Eddie squints through the bright hospital lights. Ow.

“Good morning, sleepy,” Hen says, her voice quiet but tone cheerful.

Eddie’s chest goes tight and he realizes—he’s looking for Buck.

Buck’s not here. He told Buck to go stay with Christopher. Christopher’s been through so much—his mom, then the tsunami—Eddie couldn’t have him be alone. And if Eddie can’t be there, Buck’s the next best thing. Christopher sometimes wants Buck, when he’s had a tsunami dream.

“How am I?” he asks.

“Warm,” Hen replies. “Finally. Honestly, you seemed fine, they just wanted to keep you overnight.”

“I was asleep.”

“You were more than asleep. You passed out right on Buck’s shoulder.”

“How, uh, was he?”

Hen gives him a knowing look and uncrosses her legs, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Oh, you know. Completely panicked about you. Looking at you like you’d come back from the dead. Clawing at the ground to try and dig you out.”

“What?” Eddie sits up. He does feel fine, just a bit tired, still.

Hen hands him a glass of water that’s standing by, with a straw, and Eddie sips from it gratefully. What is Hen talking about? “I just meant… was he okay with me falling asleep on him.”

Buck held onto his hands all through the ambulance ride. Buck looked at him like Eddie was a miracle. And even after fighting to come back to Christopher, to come back to Buck, to come back to his _family,_ Eddie's still not sure what to do about the feeling that gives him. He doesn't know how to unwrap a gift.

Hen looks like the definition of unimpressed. “Yeah, I’d say he was okay with it. Look, Eddie, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Bobby and Athena when they asked how we knew they were dating—you and Buck are happy at the same time, then you’re miserable at the same time. It’s not hard to figure out. That puppy’s so gone on you I think he’d climb Everest without oxygen if you asked him to. So if you could do us all a favor and not nearly die again, and also maybe take Buck out on a date, we’d really appreciate it.”

Eddie’s shocked the water glass hasn’t slipped out of his fingers. He feels numb. “I—what?”

“Weird, the doctor didn’t _say_ you got a concussion…” Hen rolls her eyes and stands up. “There’s your aunt. She’s going to bring you home. Just figure your shit out, okay? We can’t save your ass if we have to spend time stopping Buck from doing a suicide run. This was all very funny for the first few months but now it’s serious. Kiss the man before he kills himself for you.”

Eddie is truly, one thousand percent out of words.

* * *

Buck’s just collapsed onto Eddie’s couch, Christopher in bed, soothed with another _Hobbit_ chapter, when his phone rings.

Fuck, it’s Maddie.

He loves his sister, but he can’t hide anything from her, and that’s a problem when he’s cut open and raw like this, his ribs spread wide to show the gaping, beating, pulsing heart of him.

“Hey, I saw the news.” Maddie’s voice is soft. “Eddie okay? You okay?”

There’s still some things that only his sister can provide for him, a safe space that makes him feel like a child again but in a good way. This was the woman who gave him baths and fixed him dinners, who helped him with his homework and let him crawl into her bed when he had nightmares. If he doesn’t feel safe with Maddie, who can he feel safe with?

“I’m okay,” he confirms. “Eddie’s okay. They want to keep him overnight so they can monitor him. He was—um. Really cold. And tired. But I think he’s—going to be okay.”

He wipes at his eyes, but lazily. There’s nobody to hide from anymore.

“You’re not with him?”

God, he wishes. “He asked me to stay the night with Christopher. So he wouldn’t worry.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. “He asked you to look after his son.”

“…yeah?”

There’s another, much shorter pause, and then Maddie says, “Do you remember what happened the night you hurt your leg?”

He’d like to say that he does, that you don’t forget something like that, but the truth is he’s not sure. He was in a lot of pain, and then on a lot of painkillers. “I… I’m not sure.”

He’s also not sure what this has to do with their conversation.

“Eddie and I walked into your room,” Maddie sounds like she’s smiling, “and you looked at him, and he looked at you, and I swear, the hospital could’ve been on fire and neither of you would’ve noticed.”

Buck swallows. His throat feels tight.

“He held your hand and I swear, the way he stared at you—”

“Maddie, _please_ , don’t.” He can’t let himself hope. Not after Abby. Not after Shannon.

“The man smiles at you like—”

“Did he tell you he loves me? Huh?” Buck sits up. “No, he didn’t. So you don’t know, and you can’t know, and I won’t—”

“Did you ask him?” Maddie shoots right back. “Did you tell him how you feel?”

“What? No! Do I look like an idiot?”

“ _Evan_.”

“Madeline. Look, what happened, falling for him it’s—I get that I wasn’t in love with him last time, it was infatuation, I really get that, but I—” He wipes at his eyes. “I fell in love with Abby and she—she didn’t. Feel the same. And I know, I _know_ , how I feel now and I can’t, I can’t go through that again.”

“And what makes you think that he wouldn’t feel the same?” Maddie asks.

“Because we’ve fucked and he’s never said anything,” Buck blurts out.

Maddie’s silent for a moment, and Buck wonders if she’s banging her head against the wall. “You never said anything either.”

“He went back to Shannon. After all she did to him, he still—he loved her.”

“Did he say that he loved her?”

“Why else would he go back to her!?”

“Why did you wait for Abby!?” Maddie counters, sounding exasperated.

Buck’s not sure how to counter that.

“I think that you’re saving yourself from disappointment by jumping the gun. Admit it, Buck, these are all excuses, excuses for why Eddie won’t want you instead of just asking him.”

He thinks, of all things, about Bobby. About how he assumed Bobby was making the choice to keep Buck from coming back because he didn’t think that Buck was good enough, when really it was because Bobby loves him.

“Bobby thought we were dating,” he admits.

Maddie gives a small, light laugh.

“What?”

“Bobby knows you two aren’t dating. I think he was trying to trick you into realizing what was going on by faking it.”

That sneaky son of a…

Maddie sighs. “Buck, these reasons you’re telling me that Eddie doesn’t want you, the behavior you’re telling me he showed—I don’t think that it’s the red flags and shut downs you think they are. I think that you’re scared of being abandoned so it’s easier to abandon the other person first. To assume the worst instead of getting your hopes up.”

“What, you think you leaving fucked me up that much?” Buck snaps, because his eyes sting and the world is wobbly and his chest is tight. He curls inward, makes himself small, and wishes that Maddie was here. That she could hold him.

“I know,” Maddie says quietly. “I know it messed you up, me leaving. But Eddie’s got his own issues, from what you’ve told me. He’s got to be scared too.”

“Eddie? Scared?” He can’t imagine Eddie being scared of anything.

Maddie sighs again. “Shannon left him. You’re not the only one who might have abandonment issues.”

“I—”

“He nearly _died_ tonight,” Maddie points out. “And that doesn’t tell you that maybe life is short and you should take a chance? Because if you two have been sleeping together, and he trusts you with his son, and he looks at you like he does, Buck, I don’t know what you’re waiting on.”

Buck swallows. “I’m just easy. That’s… it.”

Maddie doesn’t sound impressed. “Tell him. Because if you don’t, you’ll be miserable like this forever. You can’t be in-between like this.”

Buck rubs at his eyes. Stares down the hall, towards where Christopher sleeps, happy and unaware. “If I tell him, I lose him. And Christopher.”

Maddie’s voice is gentle. “But like this, you’re just punishing yourself. And despite whatever’s going on in that head of yours, Buck, I don’t think you deserve to be punished.”

That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know what he deserves.

* * *

Pepa insisted on getting him something to eat before she dropped him off at home, and while it meant he missed seeing Christopher before school, he’s grateful for it when they finish. He feels less like death warmed over now and more like an actual human being.

Buck’s jeep is still in the driveway. He’s still here.

Eddie’s heart hammers in his throat as he walks up to the front door. “Buck?”

“In here,” Buck calls.

Eddie follows the noise into the kitchen. Buck’s washing breakfast dishes, but the clanking in the sink is far too loud, too numerous. Buck never clanks dishes together this much, unless—

He glances down. Buck’s hands are shaking.

Buck quickly shuts off the water and grabs a towel, drying off his hands. Fuck, he looks like he hasn’t slept all night. The guy looked better rested when he was stripping until four in the morning, what the hell?

“Did Christopher have nightmares?” Eddie asks.

“What? No, no, he was good. I, uh, Carla hadn’t let him watch the news so I told him you just needed to stay the night in the firehouse.” Buck winces. “I didn’t like lying to him but I didn’t know how to tell him the truth.”

Eddie’s learned, as a parent, that there are such things as good lies. Like lying to his son and saying _I loved your mom, too_. “No, I’m glad. He would’ve just been upset. I was fine. I mean, slept like the dead, but otherwise fine. Fluids good, temperature’s good, no pneumonia or anything.”

“Yeah. That’s. That’s good.” Buck starts looking around the kitchen, and Eddie realizes—he’s avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

His stomach curls and he wants to leave—even though this is his own house.

 _He clawed at the ground to try and get you out,_ Hen said. _He was completely panicked._

Frank’s talked with Eddie about not making assumptions. About asking instead of just thinking he knows what the other person wants or needs. So if Eddie were to _assume…_ he’d say that Buck was avoiding looking at him because Buck’s not a fucking idiot and he’s figured out that Eddie’s in love with him.

But he can’t assume.

_He’d climb Everest without oxygen if you asked him to._

“Buck.”

“Do you need breakfast?” Buck smiles at him shakily and then starts opening the fridge, the cupboards. “Because I can—”

Eddie steps in and grabs Buck’s shoulders, turning Buck to face him. “I ate.”

“Oh.”

Eddie can’t seem to let go of Buck now that he’s holding on. “Can we. Are we.” Fuck, this is hard. There are so many things he wants to say that he can’t figure out where to start. “Do you remember the night you—the truck got your leg?”

“I… mostly? I think so?” Buck’s looking at the ground.

“You never talked about it so I thought you didn’t remember.”

At that, Buck’s gaze finally snaps up to his. “You never said anything so I figured I’d just hallucinated—” Buck pauses. “What are you saying?”

 _You called me Texas. You wouldn’t let go of my hand. You begged me to make it stop hurting._ “I’m saying I—” His hands slide down to Buck’s elbows. “You weren’t hallucinating anything.”

“You were under forty feet of dirt,” Buck croaks. Eddie can feel him shaking. “But I didn’t know if I could—if I was allowed—you were so _cold,_ Eddie you were so cold—”

“You’re allowed. Whatever you want, whatever it is, you’re allowed with me. You’re allowed this.”

He feels like he’s telling himself this, too. Like Buck’s not the only one who needs to hear he has permission.

Buck’s still shaking, like he’s torn between pressing closer and pulling away. “I don’t know, I don’t know what you want, I—”

He had to write out a speech for Shannon. He had to practice in front of a mirror. But here, with Buck, he suddenly finds he knows exactly what to say. Or, rather, what to do.

He takes Buck’s hand and kisses it, presses his mouth against it and he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t let go.

Buck’s eyes go wide and dark, but he finally, finally stops shaking. And at last he looks Eddie in the eye.

Eddie’s not sure either of them are breathing.

“You never _said_ anything,” Buck whispers, and he sounds absolutely brokenhearted.

Eddie has no idea if Buck’s talking about the night of his leg, or the night Buck showed up at Eddie’s front door shaking with rage over Bobby’s lie, or Eddie’s choice about Shannon, or if he’s talking about even further back than that, about Mexico, about Eddie slipping away without saying _call me, text me, let’s stay in touch._

He decides it doesn’t matter. He’s saying it now. “I want _you_.”

He deserves to be happy. He deserves what he wants. And that’s Buck.

Eddie kisses Buck’s hand again, turns it over and kisses the palm, the base of Buck’s wrist, and when Buck makes a small, broken whine, Eddie uses Buck’s hand to pull him in and seizes Buck’s mouth with his.

Buck grabs onto Eddie, wraps an arm around his waist and sags against him, opens for him, lets Eddie tease just the tip of his tongue into Buck’s mouth as he presses them together over and over. His heart is pounding wildly and yet he can only hear it distantly, like it’s very far away, the whole world is far away, it’s just Buck.

“Be with me,” he blurts out. He rests his forehead against Buck’s and brings his hands up, frames Buck’s face. “I should’ve asked you—fucking months ago—a year ago, be with me. Be with me.”

_I love you. I’m so in love with you._

Buck, to Eddie’s surprise, starts laughing a bit hysterically, his voice choked. “Maddie’s gonna lord this over me for the rest of my life.”

Eddie bumps their noses together. “Is that a yes?”

Buck huffs out a small, wet laugh. “Um, no, it means I hate you and I never want anything to do with y—”

Eddie kisses him. He can taste salt. “Yeah, I hate you too.”

He breathes the words right up against Buck’s mouth, and he can feel Buck’s smile when he kisses him again.

This was Buck’s day off anyway, and Eddie’s got the day off now thanks to last night, so they’ve got until Christopher’s home from school. In other words, hours. Hours and hours and hours.

Eddie plans to take full advantage.

Finally, after all these years, after Mexico, after snatching and grabbing and taking, after feeling like he has to cling because he doesn’t know when or if he’ll ever get this again, after feeling like he’s trying desperately to get some message across just through his kisses and his touch—they have time. He can relax. He doesn’t have to explain anything. Buck knows, and Eddie knows, and it’s just the two of them.

Buck digs his fingers into Eddie’s sides and whines a little, sucking on Eddie’s tongue as Eddie slides it into his mouth, curls it, teases him.

God, he wants to kiss this man forever.

And hey. Now he can.

He steps back on one foot and then forward and to the side with the other, turning Buck on a neat pivot and pinning Buck against the fridge.

“Hey,” Buck gasps, grabbing two fistfuls of Eddie’s shirt. “No fair.”

“What, they didn’t teach you tricks like that in the strip club?”

“They teach you that in a salsa dance?”

“Maybe.” Eddie’s not giving away all his secrets.

He kisses Buck again and again, searching for that magic moment when Buck melts and goes pliant, pinned between the fridge and Eddie’s body. God, he’s so fucking big, miles of skin, pounds of muscle, and Eddie can mark every single inch of it.

And he doesn’t have to hide how he feels, or worry that Buck’s not understanding it. Buck understands now.

“Fuck,” Buck manages, when Eddie finally releases his mouth in favor of kissing along the sharp curve of Buck’s jaw. His hands slide up underneath Eddie’s shirt and he rolls his hips, making it very clear to Eddie just how hard Buck’s getting. “Eddie…”

Eddie rolls his hips in response, shifts his legs so that their cocks line up better, and he can feel Buck straining against his jeans, getting harder and thicker with every slow grind together.

Buck makes a _ngh_ sound in the back of his throat and his head falls back against the fridge. He spreads his legs, arches, basically presents himself to Eddie like a goddamn feast. It kind of reminds Eddie of the way Buck was on his lap in the strip club, actually. The thought gives him a fun, possessive little thrill.

“Texas,” Buck pants, tugging at Eddie’s clothes, trying to get them off.

“Mmm, that’s my name, don’t overuse it.”

Buck grins at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Never,” he swears.

Eddie meant it as a joke, but he’s not going to object to the soft way Buck replies, to the weight in Buck’s voice.

He slides his hand under Buck’s shirt, drags his palm along Buck’s stomach. When he first fucked him, as a stripper, Buck had a six pack. Vanity muscles. Now those flexed muscles aren’t there for a sexy visual, oiled up and contoured for a stage, but Eddie can feel them, stronger and firmer than before, underneath his fingers now as he digs in. Buck’s got even _more_ muscle now, and he fucking loves it.

Buck huffs with contained laughter. “Tickles.”

“Oh, does it now?”

Buck catches Eddie’s wrists in his hands. “Don’t you _fucking_ dare.”

Eddie kisses him and graciously doesn’t tickle him. This time.

He cups Buck’s cock through his pants instead, and Buck moans against Eddie’s mouth.

“Fuck, look at you.” He kisses along Buck’s throat and continues to massage Buck’s cock as Buck grinds against him. “Missed this.”

“Missed you,” Buck echoes.

“Yeah?” Eddie scrapes his teeth across Buck’s skin, delighting in the full-body shiver Buck gives in response. “How much?”

“E-enough I’m gonna—I’m gonna come if you don’t—don’t stop.” Buck’s breathing heavily through his nose, his thrusts against Eddie’s hand sharp and rough.

Eddie’s pretty fucking hard himself, heat spiking through his stomach, up his spine, every time he grinds against Buck’s thigh. It’s so tempting to flick open the button on Buck’s pants and slide his hand inside, wrap his hand around that thick, velvety, slick cock and jerk Buck off quick and dirty—but he knows how desperate Buck can get, and that would be the easy way out.

And he wants Buck even closer than this.

He pulls his hand away and Buck whines. Eddie just fits his hands around Buck’s hips instead and tugs him forward. Buck grabs on, his fingers sliding through Eddie’s hair at the back of his head and his other hand grabbing onto Eddie’s ass.

“Miss your longer hair,” Buck mumbles.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Eddie asks, tugging Buck down the hallway. “I’m literally trying to get your clothes off—”

“I like tugging it! What if I said you couldn’t bite me anymore, huh!?”

“Oh my God you’re such a brat.” He’s laughing, though, and Buck’s grinning right back at him as he nudges his bedroom door open.

His bedroom is… smaller than Christopher’s. He gave his kid the master bedroom because, well, why not? Eddie doesn’t need a lot. He really just needs a place to sleep and hold his clothes, honestly.

But for the first time, now, he wishes his room was a little more… decorated. That it wasn’t just the bed and night stand and closet. Buck’s full of life and Eddie wants to give him the best and he’s got every intention of having Buck sleep over frequently, to say the least, so he almost wants to—spruce up his bedroom. For Buck.

Then Buck takes his shirt off and Eddie kind of stops thinking about anything other than how much his mouth is watering.

Buck, God love him, notices Eddie staring and twists and turns far more than necessary as he slides his jeans off nice and slow. Eddie would roll his eyes but given that his mouth is actively watering and his face is on fire he’s pretty sure he’s got no room to judge. “You can take the stripper out of the club…”

Buck laughs and shrugs, looking a little shy. “A guy can’t want to show off for his… for you a little?”

Eddie’s pretty sure he knows what word Buck just avoided saying, and after all of their dancing around each other, all of their assumptions and pain, he doesn’t want any more doubt.

“Just because you’re my boyfriend now doesn’t mean I’ll stop teasing you,” he replies.

Buck looks like he did when they slept together the second night in Mexico, when he answered the door only in a towel and seemed both brash and pleased with Eddie’s response.

Eddie grins and pulls him in. Buck fingers the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt and whines as Eddie nips at his throat. “Eddie…”

He kisses Buck properly, holding on as Buck undoes his pants and shoves them down, skimming his fingertips along Eddie’s thighs, his stomach, his knuckles brushing against Eddie’s hard, leaking cock.

This is how it should’ve ended when Buck’s leg was injured. This is what he’d wanted to do. But he’d waited for Buck to make the move and they’d missed out. They could’ve been doing this the whole time.

He shoves those thoughts away and pulls his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side just in time as Buck smashes their mouths together again.

Mmm, there’s an edge of desperation to that kiss that Eddie can never resist, not from Buck.

Buck’s hands are all over him, greedy, squeezing his ass, sliding up and down his back, stroking his cock, and Eddie’s got to catch his fingers, intertwine them with his, so that he can get leverage to press Buck down into the mattress.

“It’s okay, we’ve got time.”

Buck huffs against Eddie’s mouth. “You almost fuckin’ died, Eddie, c’mon, gimme a break.”

“You almost died,” Eddie shoots back. “Twice.”

“Are we seriously having ‘yay we’re not dead’ sex?”

“Well if the shoe fits…”

“More like if the condom fits…” Buck mumbles.

Eddie pauses. “Do you want…?”

“No!” Buck goes completely red. “Um. I mean.”

Eddie can’t help himself. He starts laughing. “How are we so bad at this?”

He knows the answer. _Because it matters. Because we want to get it right._

He kisses Buck instead, because there are some things he’s still got to work on saying out loud.

Buck loops his arms around Eddie’s neck and seems to understand.

He slings his leg over Buck’s hip and fumbles for the lube in the bedside drawer. Call it force of habit, call it wishful thinking, but he did fuck Buck in his bed about a month ago and he had hoped… and it looks like he’s not a sucker after all.

Buck bites his lip as he watches Eddie slicks up his fingers and slides them down between Buck’s legs. Eddie can’t help but remember when he first did this, how unsure he was, listening to Buck’s instructions, making sure he was doing it right.

It feels like a century ago. It feels like yesterday.

He goes slowly, trying to savor it, even though there’s a part of him that’s aware of how many missed opportunities they had, of how much time they’ve wasted. They’re here now and he wants to soak in every second.

Buck’s so slick and warm around his fingers, tight, flexing, and a groan rumbles up out of Eddie’s throat that seems to come from his very toes. He presses their foreheads together as he slowly stretches Buck open, feeling the way each breath of Buck’s seems to be punched out of him, the way Buck’s fingers dig into him, the tremble in Buck’s muscles. _God_ , he’s missed this. Not the sex. Well, yes, okay, the sex. But he can get some damn toys for that if he really wants to. He can buy a dildo, a cock ring, hell, even a fleshlight. It’s not about seeking an orgasm.

He’s missed Buck’s sounds, his smell, his taste, his touch. He’s missed getting to be as close, as intimate, to Buck as he possibly can be. He’s missed that feeling of safety. That feeling of being intertwined with someone, literally and figuratively.

He’s missed the connection.

Buck whimpers when Eddie pulls his fingers out, and then gives a sigh of pure relief when Eddie slides his cock inside instead. Eddie buries his face into Buck’s neck and braces his knees on the bed to thrust. Buck smells like coconut and sandalwood, like his stupid expensive shower products, and Eddie wants to fucking bathe in it. He wants to press them together for so long that they smell like each other.

Once he starts thrusting he can’t stop, it’s like he’s reduced just to instinct after holding back for so long, and Buck squirms and writhes against him, refuses to let Eddie pull away, keeps him close and clinging. Eddie kisses along Buck’s neck, his jaw, lets Buck cling all he fucking wants. Less than twenty-four hours ago he was swimming underwater with forty feet of earth between him and safety. And only a year before that he was holding onto Buck’s hand as Buck bled out and went delirious with pain.

They’ve got a fucking right to cling to each other.

Buck ruts up against Eddie’s stomach, his cock dragging slickly over and over Eddie’s skin and fuck, that is just—the desperation of it, the feel of it, is just so fucking hot, he’s really not gonna last with Buck scratching and arching and this fucking on edge.

And then Buck starts _begging_.

“I’m—Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please—” His mouth is right by Eddie’s ear so even though it’s quiet and breathy, Eddie can fucking hear everything. “Fuck, ‘m close—fuck, Texas, _Texas_ , _fuck_ —”

He can’t fucking handle it. He bites down on Buck’s jaw and comes, on fire, and Buck moans helplessly. Eddie presses closer and Buck ruts up desperately between them, grinding, rubbing off against Eddie’s stomach until he comes, staining their skin.

He is not fucking moving. Not for anything.

Well, okay, if Christopher had an emergency. But other than that…

Buck curls right up into him, slings a leg over Eddie and holds on like he’s still scared that Eddie will pull away. Eddie kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, until Buck relaxes. He’s not going anywhere. He’s not going to run away and he’s not going to let Buck run away, either.

For a second, they’re just holding onto each other like they can’t handle letting go. Like if they loosen their grip for even a moment, the other one will slip away.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

Buck strokes through Eddie’s hair, and they’re too close for him to see anything, so his eyes are closed, but he can feel Buck’s smile.

At last he does have to pull back, to clean them up a bit, but then he can crawl right back into bed with Buck and take his time, explore, mark Buck up.

Buck indulges him, Buck’s always indulging him, even way back at the beginning, letting Eddie suck and bite bruises everywhere—even if it means Chim and Hen are going to have an absolute field day on their next shift.

For a while, it’s quiet, just kissing and touching.

“A year ago.”

“Hmm?” Eddie’s a little distracted, kissing down the curve of Buck’s pectoral. There’s a pleasant buzz of _mine, mine, mine_ in the back of his head. He feels—content. Heavy, but in a good way. Like there’s no need for an adrenaline rush anymore. He’s got Buck. He can _keep_ Buck. He can relax.

“You said—you should’ve asked me out a year ago.”

Eddie pulls away and props himself up on his elbow so he can look Buck in the eye. “Yeah. I should have.”

Buck’s eyes are big, two spots of pink on his cheeks and spreading rapidly. “But you were—Shannon was back.”

“I know.” He reaches up and gently runs a hand through Buck’s hair. “I wanted to be with you. I did what… I did what I thought was right for Christopher, for Shannon. And I wanted to—to protect you.”

Buck blinks rapidly in that way he gets when he’s confused. “Protect me?”

“I didn’t know what Shannon was going to do. If she took me to court over Christopher, over custody, and we were dating—I thought they might—your past job, they’d drag you through the fucking mud and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t let them do that to you.”

He feels embarrassed, saying it out loud. It sounds so stupid, so… _here let me protect you since you can’t take care of yourself_. And he knows that Buck is fully capable of taking care of himself.

Buck swallows. “I would’ve said fuck it. Take the risk. If—if you thought it would ruin your chances with Christopher then do whatever you need to do to protect your kid, you know I’m in support of that. But to protect me? I can take it. I don’t want my past stopping… I want to be with you, I don’t give a shit if someone tries to make me feel bad about—I can take it.”

“But you—you said that you would be with her, if you were me. So I—I thought—”

Buck’s mouth falls open. “I—Eddie, I stayed loyal to Abby for—months after she left.” He props himself up so they’re level. “I’m not the best guy to ask about—shit like that. I thought—you asked me what I would do, so I told you what I would do. That didn’t mean you were—it wasn’t _advice_.”

Eddie slumps forward until he’s using his weight to roll, on top of Buck and then over, pulling Buck with him until they’re both on their sides, legs tangled up, and he can press close all over. “I hated myself, and I didn’t trust myself to go for what I wanted. To ask for good things. And so I was waiting for you to… to tell me. I was waiting for you.”

Buck groans. “We’re both fuckin’ idiots, I was waiting for you. I thought—fuck.” He nuzzles into Eddie’s neck and mumbles. “Thought I was always gonna be just that stripper you fucked.”

“What? Buck.” Eddie gets a grip on Buck’s hair and tugs him back so that he can look Buck in the eye again. “You were never ‘just’ anything.”

Buck flushes again. “No, I mean, it’s okay, it was a fling, we—”

“You weren’t, okay? Or—it wasn’t. The way it is now.” Eddie moves his hand down, cups Buck’s cheek. “But I tried to call you. Your number changed.”

He can feel Buck inhale sharply.

“I mean.” Eddie shrugs. “I heard about Buck 1.0. I know I was just another notch in your belt. But—I couldn’t help it. It meant something to me. You, meant something to me.”

“You were the only client I ever slept with,” Buck admits. It sounds like each word is a nail dragging up the inside of his throat. “I had a rule, actually, never to sleep with a client. But I broke it. Because you—you were just—you were you.”

He shrugs, and Eddie can see his eyes are shining and wet. “You were special from the start. I promise.”

Buck ducks his head down and presses his mouth against Eddie’s neck, right where his pulse flutters just under the skin.

“We really are both idiots, aren’t we?” Eddie muses.

“Mmm.” He can feel Buck smiling against Eddie’s skin.

But they are here now. They’re here, and Buck’s happy and curled in his arms and he’s _staying_ and it’s all worth it, every piece of it, for this.

For a few minutes they just lie there in silence, Eddie stroking his fingertips up and down Buck’s back and arm, Buck warm and solid and soft against him. He’s pretty sure Buck’s fallen asleep, when…

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh… I should probably tell you I saved the video.”

“…you what!?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my darlings, for all of your love and comments! A special thank you to extasiswings, who ended up betaing this as I screeched like a maniac.

Buck’s getting a severe feeling of déjà vu.

Five years ago, it was Sapphire and the others teasing him when he came in and had hickeys all over his back. He’d had to get help to cover them all up with makeup.

This time, it’s Chim and Hen sneaking looks at him while he’s changing his shirt, and he can _feel_ them smothering what they want to say.

Unlike last time, though, when he just blushed and blew off the wolf whistles and comments… this time he isn’t trying to brush off a fling, trying to ignore the feelings that crept into his chest when he wasn’t looking.

This time he just pulls his shirt on and looks over at them and says, “Do I have something on my face?”

“More like something on your… everything,” Chim says. He sounds a bit strangled as he realizes what other places, places he _can’t_ see, where there are probably marks as well.

Eddie walks out of the bathroom, and this—this is the fun part. Because they talked about this, about how they wanted the others to know (or not know), about whether they wanted to keep it a secret and if so for how long, about how to announce it.

And in the end, they decided, why not have some fun?

“Morning guys,” Eddie says, as he oh so casually throws his things into his locker and then grabs Buck’s hips, kissing him. “Cap brought donuts, they’re upstairs.”

Eddie exits.

Chim blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.

“…did I…” Chim holds up a finger, then lowers it. “How long has…”

Buck feigns astonishment. “Chim, you didn’t know? God it’s been… wow, years.” He struggles to sound serious and not crack up. “I mean, we spent Christmas together, didn’t you notice?”

Hen lowers her gaze at Buck. “Mmmhmmm. Years. Right.”

Buck can’t hold it in anymore. He bursts out laughing. “We just started dating, Chim. It’s new.”

“Oh my God, you little shit, you had me going,” Chim protests.

Hen sticks her arm out. “Money, please.”

Chim pulls out some bills and passes them over. “Seriously, Buck, are you two together? You’re not pulling our legs?”

“We’re together,” Buck confirms. “After… um. The well. All that. We had a talk. So.”

“Well hey, trust me, nothing like a near-death experience to put things into perspective,” Chim jokes, and Buck lets him get away with it because he knows Chim is speaking from experience.

“You two seem happy,” Hen says. She looks pointedly at his now-covered chest and raises an eyebrow. “Very happy.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Buck heads out. “For the record, yes, I’m happy, and it has nothing to do with the fantastic and multiple orgasms.”

“Good morning to you too, Buck,” Bobby says, eyes closed, sounding very, very tired.

Chim bursts out laughing.

* * *

Eddie was… not expecting Abby.

He and Buck haven’t really talked all that much about her. He knows she was important to Buck and that Buck stayed loyal to her even after she was clearly finished with the relationship. But he’s not sure about much beyond that—how they met, how Buck wound up living with her, why she was special to him.

And sue him, Eddie’s a little pissed when his boyfriend throws himself in harm’s way to save the fiancé of a woman who didn’t fucking deserve him.

Huh. Maybe this is how Buck felt about Shannon.

“You want to talk about what that was?” Eddie asks as they finish up in the locker room.

Buck grabs his bag and gives Eddie a glare, but Eddie knows him too well. He can see the hurt lurking in Buck’s eyes, in the corners of Buck’s mouth.

He follows Buck out into the parking lot. “You remember that your pouting didn’t work on me day one, right?”

“What do you want, Eddie?” Buck snaps, unlocking his jeep and throwing his bag inside, slamming the door closed.

“I want to know why you’d put your life on the line for someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Buck stares at him. “You saying that we shouldn’t put ourselves on the line to help save lives? Isn’t that the whole job description?”

“Of course that’s the whole job description. Buck.” He grabs onto Buck’s shoulder. “But this wasn’t about you doing your job. This was about you trying to prove something.”

Buck looks away, but his eyes are wet and Eddie knows he’s got him. “Abby… Abby taught me what it was to really step up. And be—and be someone that I liked. Y’know, with you, in Mexico, it was great, but Abby taught me that relationships need work and how—how to _do_ that work.” Buck looks over at him. “Honestly, the reason I was able to be—anything important to you and Christopher is because I learned it with her. And I guess I just—I wanted her to appreciate that, y’know? I wanted—I’m not in love with her. I’m in love with—with you. But I saw her and fuck, Eddie, I just wanted to—I liked who I was with her and I did everything right and it wasn’t enough and there’s still that part of me that just wants her to fucking say it and see how great I am because she—how could she walk out so easily?”

“Abby walking out on you says more about her than it does about you. Hey.” He takes Buck’s elbow with his other hand, tugs Buck in. Because he can do that now. It still gives him a rush, two weeks in—the realization that no, he _can_ touch. He can have, and hold. “It took me forever to figure that out about Shannon. But her leaving said more about her than it did about me. I fucked up, but she chose to leave the way she did.

“Abby chose to let you hang around. She chose to hope that you would just figure it out on your own and move on rather than telling you to your face. She decided that ghosting you was easier than having a painful conversation. And that is on _her_. And we can say it was about this thing or that thing, but Buck, you’re allowed to be hurt. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to yourself.”

Buck swallows and ducks his head down. “It’s hard not to—it’s hard to stop. Asking for that approval. That… validation.”

God, does Eddie understand that. “I get it. But Buck, you deserve better.”

…he’s dating Buck, now. Eddie realizes the implication of what he’s just said and his breath catches as Buck meets his gaze again. But he squares his shoulders and doesn’t look away. _I want you to be happy, Dad._

“Forget her. We both have shitty pasts, and they’re in the past, now. Let me be better for you.”

Buck drops his head down onto Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie wraps his arms around Buck immediately, creates that safe space for him. “You’re so much better.”

Eddie hums. “Does this mean you’re not gonna throw yourself off a train anymore?”

“I dunno.” Buck nuzzles in. “I might need more persuading. Pizza is very persuasive.”

“Oh my God. I was going to get pizza anyway. Shameless.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Buck stands up again, his eyes still wet but grinning. “I was a stripper, I’m the definition of shameless.”

Abby texts Buck on the way home, asks if he could meet her to talk, but even as he types out _sure,_ Buck’s grabbing Eddie’s hand over the gear shift and interlacing their fingers.

Eddie grins into the windshield. Abby’s loss is his gain.

* * *

Buck knows something’s up the minute he enters Eddie’s house and sees what’s on the kitchen table. “…Eddie?”

“Yeah?” Eddie exits from the bedroom and Buck’s mouth waters.

He distinctly remembers Eddie choosing not to wear those jeans to the bar one night specifically because they’re so tight they look like they’re painted on him. Why’s he wearing them now?

“What is on the kitchen table?”

“Aww, I thought you’d recognize them.” Eddie walks over and picks up the item in question, dangling them from a finger. “Seeing as you really liked wearing them, apparently.”

Eddie’s grin is pure wickedness and Buck’s clothes suddenly feel too hot and confining. “They’re handcuffs.”

Leather handcuffs with soft white fur lining the inside so that they’ll be much more comfortable and suited for… well, sex, than regular, real handcuffs.

Eddie nods and gestures at—at the chair that’s been moved to the middle of the room. “Take a seat.”

They’ve been having a _lot_ of sex since Christopher went off to summer camp. Turns out Eddie’s had a lot of plans where Buck is concerned. Not that Buck’s complaining, quite the opposite.

He sits down in the chair and Eddie hooks his finger under Buck’s chin, tilting his head up. “Hands behind the chair.”

Buck does as he’s told, shivering with heat and anticipation. Eddie walks around, cuffs in hand. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” Buck’s voice is already hoarse.

The cuffs wrap around his wrists, warm and soft, and he shivers again. He could stand up from the chair now if he wanted to, but his hands would still be behind his back, and he suspects that’s the key here.

“Too snug?” Eddie asks, his lips brushing against the shell of Buck’s ear.

Buck shakes his head. “Perfect.”

“Good.” Eddie brushes his lips against the soft skin just behind Buck’s ear and Buck stops breathing for a hot second.

Then Eddie stands up and Buck hears music, music with a heavy bass, very familiar music—start to play softly from phone speakers.

…so, back when he was doing PT, he had a playlist that he made for working out. And during one PT session when Eddie had been there (Eddie, Chim, and Bobby had split the babysitting duties between them), the talk had turned a little flirtatious—as it so often had—and Eddie had asked if Buck’d ever had a stripper playlist.

So Buck had made one on Eddie’s phone, as a joke.

Sure doesn’t feel like a joke now as Eddie walks around to where Buck can see him, slowly peeling his shirt up over his head.

Buck whimpers. His cock’s already starting to swell. “I let you touch.”

“Maybe I’m better at following the rules than you are,” Eddie replies. He slides his hand through Buck’s hair and then jerks it back, exposing Buck’s throat to Eddie’s fingertips as Eddie slowly slides them down, down, down, to the hollow of Buck’s throat, to Buck’s chest, a nail scraping against Buck’s nipple, making Buck’s hips jerk up instinctively.

Eddie smirks at the movement and thumbs open the button on his jeans—those fucking tight jeans, for fuck’s sake—and Buck feels like he’s been set on fire. He fucking forgot that Eddie knows how to fucking _dance,_ that the man actually has a goddamn sense of rhythm, and he’s really, really starting to regret that as Eddie’s hips move, as his hand slides over all the skin and muscles on his chest that Buck can look at but not touch.

“This is revenge, isn’t it?” Buck asks, his voice a lot more breathless than he’d like.

“Me? Getting revenge for something you did over four years ago? Waiting patiently to get payback for the time you made me orgasm in front of my family? In public?” Eddie casually nudges Buck’s legs open, then bends down, his mouth only an inch away from Buck’s. “Never.”

Buck lurches forward, of course he does, to try and capture Eddie’s lips with his, but no dice. Eddie’s faster.

Eddie moves around him until he’s behind Buck, his hands pressing into Buck’s shoulders, massaging, then sliding down Buck’s chest, nails scratching lightly.

Buck’s head falls back against Eddie’s stomach. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s panting, he wants to touch so badly—

He reaches back for Eddie’s legs, catches his fingers around Eddie’s jeans. Eddie’s hand slides slower, cups Buck’s erection through his pants, grinds the heel of his hand against Buck’s cock.

Buck sucks in air in huge gulps. He’s on fire. He jerks, whimpers, feels his cock start to leak and make his underwear cling to him as Eddie works him over.

“You want me to stop?” Eddie asks, squeezing, and Buck moans.

“N-no, no, fuck—”

“Then keep your hands to yourself.”

Buck lets go of the denim he’s got caught between his fingertips and obediently lets his hands sink down, caught in the handcuffs. Eddie purrs in satisfaction, nips at Buck’s neck, and pulls his hand away.

“Oh _God_.” Buck squirms helplessly. “You said—”

“Shhh.” Eddie undoes the button on Buck’s jeans, then pulls away again. “Y’know good things come to those who wait.”

“Eddie _please_.”

Eddie steps back and walks around him, moving to the music, then finally draws down the zipper and starts to peel his jeans off. How the fuck he’s making _that_ look good and coordinated, Buck doesn’t fucking know, but he’s managing it.

And holy shit he’s not wearing anything underneath.

Buck might spontaneously combust.

“Pretty sure I never stripped _this_ much,” he quips, but it comes out strained and cracked and Eddie can hear it judging by the smirk of pure fucking _sin_ he whips out.

He plops down onto Buck’s lap and Buck’s eyes just about roll into the back of his head.

“Gotta say, I was rather fond of this trick,” Eddie says, and then the bastard pulls Buck’s own move on him, tipping the chair back and dragging their bodies together, holding them in suspension for a breathless moment before setting the chair’s front legs back on the floor.

Buck’s going to die like this and he’s perfectly okay with that.

Eddie brushes their lips together. “What do you want, hmm? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Buck whines as Eddie starts rolling his hips, grinding them together. He’s naked and filthy and in Buck’s lap and all Buck can do is grind up against him, he can’t touch him, he can’t control anything. His arms strain uselessly against the handcuffs and it’s frustrating but also intoxicating, it heightens everything.

Eddie drags their bodies together over and over, and Buck’s vision blurs. He’s still trapped in his goddamn clothes but it doesn’t matter when he has Eddie, _naked_ , on top of him, grinding on him, and then—finally, finally, _finally_ —Eddie starts kissing him and yeah Buck wouldn’t trade this for fucking anything, he’s on _fire_.

He groans around Eddie’s tongue, sucks on it, lets Eddie count his goddamn teeth if that’s what Eddie wants, and he writhes under Eddie’s precise, sharp, sweet thrusts and pants and moans and oh, oh, oh, _oh_ —

It’s hard to say which of them comes first, since Eddie’s a man on a mission, but Buck ruins his fucking pants as Eddie spurts all over Buck’s shirt.

“Holy shit,” Buck blurts out, sounding like a strangled frog.

“Yeah, that was about my train of thought at the time,” Eddie notes, breathing hard.

“ _Please_ can I touch you now?”

Eddie looks up at him through his lashes, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Oh, you think I’m done with you?”

He leans in and kisses Buck soft and deep. “Not a chance.”

Buck shivers. Oh, he is _in_ for it.

Hell yes.

* * *

Oh yeah. Eddie’s got _plans_.

He also has Buck spread out his knees on the bed, gripping the bedsheets like they’re a lifeline, and that’s where Buck is going to be staying for quite some time.

God, he’s fucking gorgeous. And trusting. And _Eddie’s_. Eddie presses his mouth into the side of Buck’s neck and just enjoys the smell of him, the warmth of his skin. He doesn’t know how to say it. He’s not good at taking what he thinks and putting it into words, and he’s working on it. He’ll keep working on it, for Christopher, for Buck, for himself. But sometimes…

He just thinks, _do you have any fucking idea that my heart’s beating in your chest,_ and he still can’t quite say it out loud.

So he kisses Buck instead, presses himself against Buck instead, touches Buck and marks him up and praises Buck up one side and down the other and hopes, prays, that Buck understands.

Buck presses back into Eddie and turns his head, trying to catch Eddie’s mouth. Eddie obliges him, kisses him soft and lingering, and Buck rumbles happily in his chest like he’s a goddamn cat.

Eddie slips his hand down between them, teasing Buck with feather-light touches with the pads of his fingers. Buck whines.

“Nuh-uh.” Eddie resists when Buck tries to urge him to do more. “That lap dance was just taking the edge off.”

“Eddie…” Buck pouts.

“Ah, no, you need to enjoy this.”

‘This’ is the computer he’s propped up in front of them. After all, the phone screen would be too small.

He’s watched this video so many times he’s lost track. And he knows Buck has it now. But they’ve never watched it together, and well. That would just be a shame.

Eddie reaches down between Buck’s legs and strokes him slowly, in a loose grip that teases more than satisfies. Buck whimpers, shakes from trying to hold still.

“Good,” Eddie praises in a soft whisper. “Stay just like that.”

He reaches around and presses the space bar, starting the video.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Buck blurts out, putting two and two together. Eddie’s not sure if Buck thought they were just watching some random porn video or if Buck even really thought about the laptop at all.

But now as the video starts, there’s no doubt about what it is.

Eddie works Buck open, going by touch alone, his eyes glued to the screen just as he knows Buck’s are, the two of them watching themselves, watching past Buck and past Eddie getting off together as they do the same thing in the present. Buck’s normally loud, and it’s delicious and sexy as fuck, but right now he’s swallowing down his noises, trying not to cover up the sounds from the video.

God, he’s never going to get tired of this. Buck then, Buck now, doesn’t matter, Eddie wants him. It’s like being plugged into a light socket.

Buck trembles with effort from staying still even as his counterpart on the screen grinds and thrusts with abandon. Eddie adds a second finger, curls the both of them, strokes right against Buck’s prostate. He can feel the whimper that Buck bites back.

On screen, they’re both breathing heavily—it’s inaudible, but obvious from the way their chests are heaving. Eddie can almost hear the ghost of it in his mind, his sense memory mingling with the actual visual and audio of the video.

“You didn’t come,” he points out, adding a third finger as his past self orgasms on screen.

Buck moans, eyes glued to the video. Eddie’s so hard he could probably hammer a goddamn nail into the wall if he wanted to, and when he squeezes Buck’s cock, he finds him just as desperate.

“Hmmm?” He thrusts his fingers in and out, kisses the top of Buck’s spine.

“N-no, had to go back to the dressing room and cool down.” Buck whines as Eddie pulls his fingers out. “Fuck, you were so—I’d never done that before with a client, but I wanted to watch you come so badly—”

“I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve watched that,” Eddie admits. He enters Buck slowly, savoring it, and Buck makes a sound like he’s choking on his own spit. “It was the hottest moment of my life. I’d never come that fast.”

Buck’s panting, his mouth open, sweat sliding down his body. He’s gorgeous. “I wanted you so badly, I wanted to see you without your clothes on, I wanted to touch you everywhere—”

“You did.” Eddie bottoms out inside of him, molds himself to Buck’s back, wraps an arm around Buck’s waist. “You do.”

He fixes his teeth around Buck’s shoulder as he thrusts in, and Buck just about wails, being good and keeping still as he lets Eddie slide into him rough and fast. He hears the telltale restart of the video and realizes that Buck’s played it again, that Buck’s watching himself grinding on Eddie as Eddie fucks him, and Eddie loses that last bit of control he had. He fucks Buck like it’s the end of the goddamn world and Buck presses right back into him, encourages him, eyes blown black as he watches their alternate selves.

He keeps his hand away from Buck’s cock until the video’s ended a second time, and only then does he start stroking him. Buck squirms, shoves back onto Eddie, begs, pleads, and finally spills over Eddie’s knuckles.

“Your face,” Buck admits, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. “When you came, in the club—hottest thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to keep you.”

Oh, that does it. Eddie’s coming like a freight train.

Buck shoves the laptop out of the way and twists around, grabbing Eddie’s face and kissing him messily. Their hands slip a little as they both claw for purchase in sweat-slick skin, but they figure it out.

“You can,” Eddie promises. This isn’t just a ‘maybe’ thing. This isn’t a ‘let’s try it and see what happens’ thing. Not to him.

He knows that once, he looked at Buck and thought, _a pity this’ll end_. But now he looks at him and knows—this can’t ever end. It won’t. He won’t let it.

Buck presses their foreheads together. “Careful, Texas, that sounds like a promise.”

Eddie can feel himself grinning. “It is.”

“Well then.” Buck kisses him. “Back at you.”

Eddie sets the laptop on the floor so that it won’t break as he kisses Buck again. And this time there’s no audience. No family. No time limits. No hidden trauma.

They’ve got all the time in the world to keep each other.

* * *

It was inevitable, really, that they’d get a call like this someday.

Buck gets a wash of sense memory as they enter the club, the smells and sounds hitting him right in the solar plexus. He can even feel himself adopting more of a swagger, adapting his gate to fit the way he’d walk back in the day, acting cocky and showing off his body.

“All right, all right, out of the way,” Chim instructs, waving his arms as they head in to see what the fuss is.

The fuss, it seems, is a customer getting a little too drunk and trying his hand at the stripper pole on one of the stages. Various strippers and other customers are standing to the side, everyone looking concerned.

“Oh, man,” Buck blurts out as he stares down at the idiot. The guy’s in bad shape, that’s a spinal injury for sure. “Dude, there’s a reason you need training for this.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m sure you know all about that,” Chim jokes as he and Hen crouch down.

Bobby’s talking to the owner and Eddie’s corralling rubberneckers, so neither one of the people who usually act as his filters are there to stop him from blurting out the first angry response that comes to mind. “Yeah, I do, seeing as it was my job for a year.”

Hen nearly drops her supplies.

Chim stares at him and Buck swallows. “I was a stripper for a year,” he explains. “Before I came to LA. It’s good money, I had fun.”

Hen nods. “I can see it. You were a fucking twink, weren’t you?”

“What!? I was not a twink! I was—”

“He was a twink,” Eddie, the traitor, confirms as he walks up.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Buck hisses.

“I had sex with you for four days, Buck, it’s not exactly an insult.”

“Oh, God, did not need to know that,” Chim says, squeezing his eyes shut against the mental image. Then he looks up at Buck. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

“It’s… thanks.”

Since Abby, Buck’s been working on stopping saying ‘it’s okay’ when it’s not and just thanking people for their apologies instead.

“I’m loving this moment of honesty and backstory reveal,” Hen says, “but this man does have a concussion and a ruptured spine.”

Oh, shit, right, yeah, injured guy.

Chim and Hen don’t act any differently around him, although they do buy him lunch the next day. Buck’s aware that it’s an apology for the comments Chim and Hen have made over the years— _Buck would be a bouncer at a strip club_ —and he’s also aware that really, there’s not any words needed. He gets it. They get it.

And it’s good. He’s still Buck to them. There are no jokes or comments. It’s really not a big deal.

Christopher comes back tomorrow. They haven’t told him about them yet, they wanted to make sure things were good, that they could really handle this change in their relationship, before introducing such a change to Christopher’s life.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Eddie asks that night. Eddie swears up and down he’s not a cuddler but that’s a fucking lie seeing as every night he wraps himself around Buck without fail.

Buck interlocks their fingers. His friends didn’t make a big deal out of it. They apologized. They treat him the same.

“Yes,” he promises.

They’re telling Christopher tomorrow.

He can’t wait.

* * *

Eddie shifts his weight nervously as he waits for Christopher to get off the bus. “Hey, buddy! There he is!”

Christopher emerges grinning, and Eddie scoops him up immediately. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Christopher hugs him and fuck, Eddie missed him so goddamn much. He missed picking him up, he missed his son’s soft sweet voice, he missed his curly hair, he missed his _baby_. “I got your care packages.”

“Good.” He and Buck sent… a lot of care packages.

What, they had free time.

Eddie sets Christopher down. “So, after all that fresh farm food, what do you want to eat for dinner, huh?”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

“You got it.” Eddie kisses the top of Christopher’s head as he stands up. “Let me get your stuff.”

Christopher chatters about camp all the way home, and Eddie’s not about to interrupt him. He wants to cry all over again (he definitely cried the day Christopher left) because now that it’s over, he’s realizing just how empty his life was without his kid. Like now that the wound’s sewn shut he can acknowledge how much pain he was in.

When they get there, Buck’s waiting, and this… this is why he was nervous.

“Buck!” Christopher presses himself right into Buck’s legs and Buck hugs him, looking like he might burst into tears (Eddie knows the feeling).

“Did you help Daddy not be sad?” Christopher whispers, as if Eddie can’t hear him.

Buck laughs. “I think I managed,” he whispers back. “But he’s always going to be a little sad when you’re gone.”

“Is it okay if Buck stays for dinner?” Eddie asks.

“Yes.” Christopher sounds delighted.

Buck gently detaches himself from Christopher and heads into the kitchen. Eddie crouches down. “Hey. Remember that thing we talked about a bit ago? Where I asked if… um. If I had someone in my life to… go on dates with? The way I did with Mommy? And you worried about Buck, and I asked what if that person was Buck, and you said… that would be okay?”

Christopher nods, a smile starting to spread across his face.

“Um, so, Buck and I went on a date, and we—we like being together, like a couple. So if it’s okay with you—nothing’s going to change, Buck will just be sleeping over more often. And when he does he’ll be staying in my room. And just like before, sometimes Abuela or Carla will watch you while we have a night out just the two of us. But nothing’s going to really change, okay? And if you’re ever uncomfortable, you just let me know, all right?”

Christopher nods, his smile out in full force now. “You’re happy, Daddy?”

There’s a yelp from inside, which means someone just texted Buck and Buck heard that Eddie secretly changed his text alert tone to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” He can _feel_ Buck swallowing the swear words he wants to yell.

Eddie grins at his son. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.”


End file.
